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angiechia · 5 months ago

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"Little Brother"

John joins the gang

No ship intended, just a short random thing i wrote instead of sleeping :P

☆☆☆

Some random day in 1885

The day had been awful for Arthur.

It started with some promise, as Hosea suggested a job robbing a dressmaker in Saint Denis. Arthur agreed without realizing he'd end up running from three huge dogs guarding the lady’s house like loyal bodyguards, ready to bite and tear anyone who got too close. Meanwhile, Hosea was "distracting" the lady—if you could even call it that. It looked more like he was courting her.

After all that, Arthur’s cut was only 10 dollars. Not much, he thought, but he had no choice but to take it. He decided to blow off some steam at a saloon, where some fellow tried to pull a fast one on him and picked a fight. With his ego far too big for a man of just 22, Arthur accepted the challenge, even though the drunk was twice his size.

After getting beaten up, Arthur was in a foul mood. The only thing that might calm him down was a ride out in the open, so that’s what he did.

For some reason, he chose to ride through the Bayou, a place known for its giant gators and treacherous swamps. Lucky for him, Boadicea was a brave mare—brave against gunfire, hunters, and even ferocious wolves. But gators? They scared the hell out of her, which Arthur learned when a sleeping gator spooked her. She threw him off, sending him tumbling into the mud, and he had to scramble away from the reptile, who had just been trying to get some sleep.

After that, Arthur figured he’d distract himself by picking up a newspaper from a kid selling them in Rhodes. Maybe there’d be something interesting going on. But his heart sank when he read the newlyweds section and saw a name he knew too well.

Mary Gillis had gotten married.

Or rather, Mary Linton now.

He let out a deep sigh and threw the paper in the trash, anger boiling inside him. That’s it, he thought, I’m heading back to camp. I need some sleep.

Luckily, nothing much happened on his ride back to camp. If he was fortunate, he’d get to feast on Pearson’s stew tonight, and Miss Grimshaw would probably make him take a good soak in the nearest river.

When he arrived, he left Boadicea with the other horses and tried to sneak over to his tent, hoping to avoid Hosea, Dutch, Grimshaw, or Pearson. They were always asking favors, and being the youngest in the gang, that burden often fell on him.

“There you are, Mister Morgan!” Miss Grimshaw’s voice called out. He sighed. “I was just about to ask if you could fetch me a—My word! What in the world happened to you?” the woman exclaimed, seeing him covered in mud.

“…I fell” Telling her his horse threw him off seemed a bit embarrassing, right?

“Sure looks like it… Let me see—” She moved in quick to grab his hat, probably planning to clean it up and send him off to wash, but Arthur stepped back, gently pushing her hands away. Nobody touched his hat.

“Whoa there! I reckon I’m just fine, Miss Grimshaw. Just need a little sleep.”

“You smell like you’ve been rollin’ in a cesspool, young man! I ain’t havin’ you stinkin’ up the camp. Get yourself cleaned up, you hear?” Her voice took on a sharper edge, and Arthur rolled his eyes, heading toward the river.

“Just what I needed,” he muttered, tossing his jacket on the ground. Miss Grimshaw snatched it up with a huff, planning to wash it later.

His bath was quick but did the trick, and once he was cleaned up, he headed back to camp.

“Much better, Arthur!” she said with a clap of approval as he walked past her, making him feel a bit sheepish. Once again, he made for his tent, but before he could enter, another voice stopped him.

“Mr. Morgan!” It was Pearson, the camp cook.

Arthur let out another weary sigh and made his way over to the “kitchen,” if you could call it that. “Mr. Pearson,” he greeted, his tone dry.

“I’ve had a hankerin’ for some rabbit lately,” Pearson said as he skillfully chopped vegetables. Dinner was close, the sun sinking fast.

“Rabbit?”

“Yep! Them big ones you find out on the prairies. Think you could hunt me some for tomorrow?”

At least he didn’t need it now. “Sure,” Arthur agreed, giving a nod before turning once more toward his tent. Just as he was about to step inside, he was intercepted by...

“There ya are, Arthur!” Dutch Van Der Linde.

"Now what, Dutch?" Years of trust between them allowed for a more relaxed exchange.

"Son, I heard about Mary..."

"No."

"I know, I know, Arthur. You probably don’t wanna talk about her, but… well, I remember how much you cared."

"Dutch," Arthur grumbled, feeling his face flush with embarrassment.

"What I’m tryin’ to say is there’s plenty of women out there, son, plenty! You can find another."

Arthur got angry, pushing open the tent flaps without stepping inside yet. "Mary’s in the past!" he lied. "It doesn’t hurt 'cause I’m over it, and I don’t want another woman, thank you!" His tone betrayed him.

Arthur entered his tent and let the canvas flaps fall behind him, shutting Dutch out. He ran his hands over his face in frustration, cursing silently while quickly untying the bandana from his neck and shrugging off his suspenders. That’s when he heard something coming from his bed—a snore.

Arthur fumbled around his desk until he found the gas lamp and lit it. As the tent filled with light, his eyes landed on a kid with dark hair sprawled out awkwardly on his bed, uncovered, mouth open, drooling on his pillow with crooked teeth.

"And why in the hell is there a damn kid in my bed?!" Arthur bellowed from inside the tent, waking the boy with a start.

"Ah, that’s John," Dutch replied from outside. "Hosea and I rescued him today; they were gonna hang him."

"Wha... what’s goin' on?" the boy, around twelve years old, mumbled, his face barely masking the confusion as he looked up at the man before him.

"And you gave him my bed?!" Arthur got out from his tent, incredulity etched across his face, while Dutch beamed like he’d done the best deed of the day.

"Well, we didn’t think you’d be back so soon. You took your time."

"Well, here I am. But who’da thought we’d turn into a damn orphanage and start adoptin’ brats?"

"What’d you call me, old man?!" the kid hollered from behind him.

Arthur, surprised, turned slowly to face John, repeating what he’d just heard. "Old man? Old man?! I’m twenty-two!"

"Yeah, twenty-two in each foot. You’re older than a barrel of aged whiskey."

Arthur resisted the urge to pounce on the quick-tongued kid. "Who do you think you are, you little...?"

"But ain't this a heart-warmin’ sight?" Dutch chimed in with a smile. "He’s just like you were when we found you."

"At least I respected my elders," Arthur shot back, glaring at the kid sprawled in his bed. "Outta my bed, now!"

"I ain’t movin’ nowhere, old man!" John retorted.

"Oh, come on, Arthur, the boy’s exhausted. You know what it’s like to be nearly hanged? First, they tighten that noose 'round your neck so hard you can barely breathe, and when they hang you, crack, your neck snaps. Poor little John must’ve been scared outta his wits."

Arthur glanced at the kid again, who now put on a pitiful face, nodding along.

"This is a joke, right?" Arthur said, exasperated.

"You wouldn’t mind sleepin’ under the stars tonight, would ya?" Dutch asked.

Arthur looked at the man, then at the kid, sighed, and said, "Just… don’t touch my stuff," with a stern voice.

"Relax, I won’t touch your junk," little John said innocently as he settled back into bed.

"Little shit..." Arthur muttered under his breath as he walked out of the tent. He looked at Dutch. "He ain’t gonna be in my tent long, is he?"

"Well… you wouldn’t mind sharin’ it, would ya?"

"DUTCH!"

"Oh, quit your whinin’, Arthur! The boy can’t sleep alone. We don’t know if he’ll try to rob us or slit our throats in our sleep."

"And you’re makin’ me watch him?"

"You’re the youngest of the gang, ain’t you? Or, well… you were." Arthur gave him a hard look. "Look on the bright side; it’s like you got yourself a little brother."

#arthur morgan #john marston #rdr2 arthur #rdr john #fanfic #rdr fanfiction #writers on tumblr #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 community #dutch van der linde #howdy sigma #red dead fandom #red dead redemption community

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ghostlyarchaeologist · 9 months ago

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It is an excellent dress!

Leverage Redemption S01E03 The Rollin' on the River Job.

#leverage #leverage redemption #parker #harry wilson #breanna casey #beth riesgraf #noah wyle #aleyse shannon #how can you NOT like that dress?#it's awesome!#ghostly'sgifs

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werewolfsmile · 6 months ago

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Okay Leverage fandom, help me out here. Is there a general consensus on Breanna's age in Redemption??

Cause I have my own theories, like how I think she's younger than Aleyse Shannon (her actress). And sure nothing explicit is stated in canon but there are some details that make me wonder if Breanna is meant to be the same age as Aleyse?

Thoughts? Opinions?? Please share them!!

Here's my supporting evidence for why I think Breanna is younger than Aleyse:

She is canonically treated as young, inexperienced, and needing guidance. (Sure, she's great at what she does, but Hardison still has binders of info for her to go through, plus he drags her away on some coding camp or something. Breanna is still learning and growing into her role in the team.)

At the end of The Panamanian Monkey Job, Harry brings over 5 glasses of liquor even though there's 6 of them in the scene. Breanna grabs the last glass, leaving Eliot empty-handed. Eliot then takes the glass off Breanna, with a scolding expression, like she shouldn't be drinking it because she's too young. Breanna looks chastened and doesn't even protest.

The way Breanna's treated in regards to college and studying and exploring her full potential etc makes it feel like she's meant to be college-age, so closer to 19, 20.

Hardison was canonically 21 in S1 of Leverage. Breanna feels younger than him to me in comparison.

Now to play devil's advocate against myself, here's evidence for why she could be closer to Aleyse's age:

At the end of The Rollin' On The River Job, Breanna says her first memory is of 9/11. In 2001, Aleyse was 5 years old. This is a very reasonable age for a first memory, therefore Breanna could easily have been about the same age. (I have memories from younger than 5, so I'd argue that Breanna could be younger with this as her first memory, but not by much.)

I can't find a clear timeline for Redemption online, so let's just say that Redemption is set in the year of its release, 2021. That would make Aleyse 25 (which to me feels too old for Breanna based on how they treat her).

I can't think of any exact episodes right now, but I feel like there are episodes of Redemption where we see Breanna drinking alcohol.

My main theory is that Breanna is 20 at the start of Redemption S1 and she's 21 by S2. This doesn't mesh with her first memory being 9/11, since she'd be a baby in 2001, but it's my headcanon.

So! To wrap up this longer-than-it-needs-to-be post, let's all vote on it!

#leverage redemption #breanna casey #aleyse shannon #leverage #my posts #polls #i've been mulling over her age for .... agesssss #and yeah i've finally made this post because of a throw-away line in a fic. sue me #please share your thoughts!! i would really love to hear them!

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fourteenthofaugust · 10 months ago

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Sophie Devereaux + pink suit Leverage: Redemption 1x03: The Rollin' on the River Job

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eyesfromhell · 1 year ago

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Leverage: Redemption S2E10 "The Work Study Job" could've and maybe even should've been way more intimate

(That's the episode about the grad student whose research was stolen by her professor)

The episode begins with a student accusing her professor of stealing and publishing her research, and him using her severe anxiety to publicly humiliate her.

Pretty good start, right? No need for a sob story, we already despise the Bad Guy, great directing. But most importantly: it's extremely low stakes, and yet the emotional stakes are so very high. If the team fails, a very nice girl is upset, loses 2 years of her life. She says that she'll have to drop out of her PhD program, that it will ruin her life, but we also learn throughout the episode that she's very smart and underestimates herself, maybe she could build herself back up. But also, if the team fails, this really nice person with no evil in her heart - who was betrayed by a man she trusted, was humiliated publicly, and had her biggest work yet stolen - would be incredibly upset. The stakes are the feelings of a girl who the episode makes us deeply sympathize with in 150 seconds.

And then it turns out the research is gonna be the anti-oil or whatever. It turns out the Bad Guy wants to steal it and sell it to Big Oil so they could bury it. And now it's a whole thing, they need to stop climate change, they need space Hardison. This very grounded episode about a guy everyone knows abusing his power became a larger than life heist.

This episode could've been so many things: What if her research was just fun math? What if the Bad Guy just really wanted attention? It could've been enough to get him to steal bogus research and spend the rest of the episode showing Emma (the Victim) how to believe in herself (which they already did, but it was kinda sidetracked by the high stakes heist they were doing).

Some of the best episodes of both shows are, imo, the ones where it's just about helping some guy stuck in trouble - The Bank Shot Job where they help the most helpless bank robbers, The Carnival Job where Elliot teaches the Mark's daughter to love herself, The Order 23 Job which is an ok episode except when Elliot saves a kid from abuse from his cop father, The Rollin' On The River Job which is an ok episode except when Elliot befriends a security guard, The DB Cooper Job.

In general Elliot has huge Big Brother Energy and every episode where he interacts with someone is elevated.

My (barely supported) conclusion: the episode didn't need elevated stakes, it set up great stakes in the first 2:30 minutes, and I think that's enough.

#leverage: redemption #leverage

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redgoldblue · 6 days ago

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ALSO. for the spotify wrapped game, if you still want: 42

oh my god. this is also an accidentally iconic choice but in a completely different direction and it's gonna take me a minute to think about it. (it very much took me a minute to think about it. quite a lot of them in fact) Tina Turner, Proud Mary

you know what. riverboat workers Starsky/Hutch AU. Starsky is Tina Turner (a sentence I never expected to write but am also somehow not surprised by). He does his canon very brief military stint, wherein he spends all his time on a [definitely not los angeles] base and never actually leaves the country (left a good job in the city / workin' for the man every night and day), absolutely cannot handle the constant discipline and oversight and, after leaving, travels all across the country job-hopping just for the relief of having no-one (parents -> mother -> aunt and uncle -> military) watching him (i cleaned a lot of plates in Memphis / and i pumped a lot of 'pane down in New Orleans). Except, of course, the flipside of having no-one watching you is that, well, you have no-one watching you. So when he ends up on the Proud Mary, where he's both in constant movement (big wheels keep on turnin') and surrounded by people he actually likes and who like him, he stays.

(Dobey is the riverboat captain, obviously. Huggy runs the on-boat cafe/bar. Minnie runs the engines with a very strict hand. Pete arrives after Starsky, but she's a stowaway who Dobey ends up reluctantly giving a job as a all-hands kid-about-deck runner when she refuses to leave)

Hutch, meanwhile, has contra canon(...ish. the way i read canon) stayed in Minnesota to start his college degree, had a mini-breakdown halfway through it, and run away. Which has involved catching a cross-state Greyhound with like, ten dollars and the reasonably expensive shirt on his back, which last him all the way to the Mississippi River. He does not have the money to get on the riverboat, and also has no particular desire to, but he happens to be there when it's about to leave so he's watching it, when one of the passengers boarding sees his now much-cheaper shirt and general Air and offers to buy him a ticket if it'll get him where he's going (you don't have to worry if you got no money / people on the river are happy to give). Just for the extra stolen time before he has to figure anything out, Hutch agrees, and gets on.

...at which point, I suppose, Starsky meets him, takes an instant shine to him, and petitions Dobey to employ yet another stray. and whaddayaknow, then they're rollin', rollin', rollin' on the river (river doot doot doot)

i know Spotify Wrapped season is well and truly over now but. it's never over in my heart so I am still happy to receive Spotify Wrapped fic asks!

#Starsky & Hutch #Starsky and Hutch #Spotify Wrapped #itwoodbeprefect #french kissing primetime homos #i would make a joke about 'every now and then you might like to hear something from us nice and easy'#but. we (the plural of me but also me and squares) are constantly writing nice and easy things #mine #my writing

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justforbooks · 1 month ago

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Marshall Brickman

Screenwriter, musician and director who won an Oscar, with Woody Allen, for the screenplay of Annie Hall

Marshall Brickman, who has died aged 85, was a successful musician, writer and film director, but will be remembered best for his collaborations with Woody Allen on three of Allen’s best movies: Sleeper (1973), Annie Hall (1977) and Manhattan (1979). The pair won an Oscar for the original screenplay of Annie Hall, which also took the awards for best picture, best director for Allen and best actress for Diane Keaton.

Allen skipped the awards ceremony, and when Brickman accepted the best writer statuette, he said: “Half of this little piece of tin, if not much more, belongs to Woody, who is probably the greatest collaborator anyone could ever wish for. He does a lot of brilliant work. He takes our script and makes it into what you saw. He picks up my lunch check for about five months, and today he refuses to come out of his apartment.”

That apartment was in New York, which played a huge part in those films. Like Allen, Brickman grew up in Brooklyn, though he was born in Rio de Janeiro, where his father, Abram, a refugee from Poland, and his New York-born mother Pauline (nee Wolin) were leftists, who in 1943 returned to America and settled in Flatbush, where Abram ran an import-export business. They exposed Marshall to the Greenwich Village scene of politics and music; he learned to play folk music on the banjo and guitar.

After high school at Brooklyn Tech, he went to the University of Wisconsin, intending to study medicine, but graduated in science and music, influenced by his room-mate and fellow New Yorker Eric Weissberg, who was also a banjo virtuoso.

The city was the fermenting cauldron for the arts in postwar America. Weissberg joined a folk group, the Tarriers, an integrated quartet who had a big hit with Harry Belafonte’s Banana Boat Song (Day-O). When Bob Carey left, Weissberg tabbed Brickman as his replacement. The Tarriers were playing at the Bitter End in Greenwich Village when Allen, a budding standup, opened for them.

Brickman at first thought his jokey intros to the group’s songs might lead him to a comedy career, and he got a job writing for Candid Camera, sharing an office with Joan Rivers. He began writing jokes for Rivers and Allen, but kept a foot in the music world by recording an album with Weissberg, New Dimensions in Banjo and Bluegrass (1963), for which he also wrote jokey liner notes. He then joined John and Michelle Phillips in the New Journeymen, but soon left. Denny Doherty replaced him, and with the addition of Cass Elliot they became the Mamas and Papas.

More importantly, Brickman joined Jack Rollins, who represented Allen, and another joke-writer, Dick Cavett, who got him a gig with Johnny Carson’s Tonight Show. He became Carson’s head writer, mostly because the other writers wanted to avoid responsibility for the “five spots”, the sketches Carson performed in addition to the monologue. When Cavett left to host his own talkshow, Brickman went with him. But in 1972, the record he had made with Weissberg was used as the soundtrack to John Boorman’s film Deliverance (although the famous Dueling Banjos was added by Weissberg and Steve Mandell).

The royalties gave Brickman the chance to relax and join Allen in day-long sessions that, although they never actually wrote scenes together, produced the script for Sleeper.

The fact that these were Allen’s films provided a structure for Brickman’s writing. “Jokes are easy,” he said. “Humour comes to me so easily I’m suspicious of it. I secrete jokes like the pancreas secretes … whatever it is the pancreas secretes.” Like Allen, and Alvy Singer in Annie Hall, Brickman preferred New York to Hollywood; not least because he was invited to a party at Sharon Tate’s house the night of the Manson murders, but had another engagement that night in Santa Monica.

Brickman was lead writer on The Muppet Show: Sex and Violence (1975), which introduced the Swedish Chef. After Manhattan, he moved on to write and direct three films, all of which were edited by his wife, Nina Feinberg, whom he married in 1973.

In Simon (1980), a psychology professor, played by Alan Arkin, is brainwashed in an experiment by bored scientists into believing he comes from outer space. Brickman wrote his most Allen-like film, Lovesick (1983) for Peter Sellers, but after Sellers’s death Dudley Moore starred as the psychiatrist in love with a patient, Elizabeth McGovern; Alec Guinness plays the ghost of Sigmund Freud. In The Manhattan Project (1986), about a high-school student who builds his own atomic bomb, John Lithgow stars alongside actors who became stalwarts in TV – Cynthia Nixon (Sex and the City), Jill Eikenberry (LA Law) and John Mahoney (Frasier).

“I pick projects where I don’t mind having lunch with the people,” Brickman quipped, and in the 90s he wrote two adapted screenplays for the director Mark Rydell. For The Boys (1991) is a wartime variant of The Sunshine Boys, in which Bette Midler and estranged spouse James Caan reunite to entertain soldiers in the Korean war. The resemblance of the character (if not the story line) to the entertainer Martha Raye was noticed by many; her lawsuit against the film failed.

Intersection (1994) remade Claude Sautet’s 1970 Les Chose de la Vie, but Richard Gere, Sharon Stone and Lolita Davidovich failed to raise it from melodrama. In 1993 Brickman reunited with Allen, now immersed in scandal around his adopted family with Mia Farrow, to write Manhattan Murder Mystery, which began life as a false start to the Annie Hall script; Diane Keaton replaced Farrow as the star.

Brickman’s final directing came in a 2001 TV movie version of Christopher Durang’s play Sister Mary Explains It All, which starred Keaton as the teaching nun in a sort of American take on Miss Brodie. He then shifted gears, writing the book for the musical Jersey Boys, about the Four Seasons vocal group; it opened on Broadway in 2005, won four Tony awards and ran for 12 years; Brickman also wrote the screenplay for the 2012 film. His Tarriers career helped him understand the quartet’s dynamics, while his musical ability helped his words match the harmonies of the music. He followed up with the book to the Addams Family musical in 2010.

Brickman is survived by Nina and their two daughters, Sophie and Jessica.

🔔 Marshall Jacob Brickman, musician, writer and film director, born 25 August 1939; died 29 November 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #Marshall Brickman #in memoriam

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arabellafaith · 1 year ago

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Chapter two, folks! OT3 fix-it for episode 3 of Leverage: Redemption, the Rollin on the River Job. Did you know that Parker and Eliot definitely made out in the water as they pulled the mob money to shore? You do now!

#leverage #leverage ot3 #fanfic #eliot spencer #eliot x hardison x parker #parker #alec hardison #fix it fic #Lets Go Steal an OT3

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mariacallous · 2 years ago

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(For Tina)

Left a good job in the city

Workin' for the man ev'ry night and day

And I never lost one minute of sleepin'

Worryin' 'bout the way things might have been

Big wheel keep on turnin'

Proud Mary keep on burnin'

Rollin', rollin', rollin' on the river

Cleaned a lot of plates in Memphis

Pumped a lot of 'pane down in New Orleans

But I never saw the good side of the city

'Til I hitched a ride on a river boat queen

Big wheel keep on turnin'

Proud Mary keep on burnin'

Rollin', rollin', rollin' on the river

If you come down to the river

Bet you gonna find some people who live

You don't have to worry 'cause you have no money

People on the river are happy to give

Big wheel keep on turnin'

Proud Mary keep on burnin'

Rollin', rollin', rollin' on the river

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thejosh1980 · 9 days ago

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Cause I've got one hand in my pocket...

I've been thinking about this blog of late. You know, this place here where I write down my thoughts, process them a little (or sometimes a lot), share, and then, once uploaded to Tumblr, have a kind of weight lifted from my shoulders.

This blog started as a place to share our experiences with being stranded in Germany during COVID, and became a therapeutic support for me during hard times.

By writing it down (well typing actually), asking the question 'Why?' over and over again, I was often able to dig deep, find clarity, and come to realisations I hadn't previously, no matter how much therapy, chats or support I had received with those around me in the past.

Not that the therapy, chats and support haven't been beneficial. In fact, the thought of journaling or writing things down 15 years ago would have sounded crazy, pointless, and silly, if it hadn't been for the therapy, chats and support.

With each moment of personal growth that I had in the past, it prepped and helped me for the future. I definitely have become more open to the idea that anything is worth trying, and maybe even trying a few times, to reap the benefit. I have tried art therapy, I have tried laughing yoga, I have leaned into my vulnerabilities and come out swinging with strength and growth that many years ago, I'd have baulked at.

So yeah, I feel like I have come a long way... Although the journey is far from over...

We just had Christmas... The festive season... The time of year we share moments with our loved ones, give and receive presents, bring joy to our world, have a week off work and eat our own body weight in mince pies, turkey, ham, Christmas pudding and trifle.

It's also one of the hardest times of the year for many people.

Part of my work is to connect with folks who are rough sleeping, low income, struggling with their mental well being, and often times struggling to make sense of the world around them and their lives within that world. For various reasons some may not have close friends or family that they can spend Christmas with. Because of the social pressures, advertisements, consumerism and Christmas music at the local super market there's no chance to get away from it. I have struggled during the festive season continuously throughout my life. And once the eating, the presents, and family are all done, there's the pressure of a big party and resolutions for New Years, and then my birthday rears its ugly head.

For many years, as December comes creeping in, I would begin to feel the dark clouds rollin' in, and the storms would be there on and off until February.

Sure, for most of that time I could drink to help me through, and I think I hid it OK, but those close to me, particularly partners, would know something was up. If I had shows to play or DJ, I could cover it up OK, because I had a job to do. Distraction helped a lot... A good coping strategy, kind of, mostly, sometimes... It got me quite far, but you know the story about sweeping things under the carpet...

I know that my sadness around Christmas has connections to my childhood. My parents, sibling, and I had our last Christmas together when I was age 4 in Melbourne.

We have a family video from that time. I received a treasured Wombat stuffed toy from my Nan, who I named 'Fatso' (from the TV show “A Country Practice'). As a child I gave him a hard time and his nose and ears have mostly rubbed off, his hands disappeared at some point in the 80's and his mouth has been sewn back on several times and now I just use a marker pen to give him a smile. Fatso has travelled the world with me, sometimes he's been back stage at shows, sometimes he'd had to stay home because he was grounded, but he and I have been through thick and thin together. A reminder of happy nuclear family days.

Mum received an ironing board.

Less than 6 months later the family felt the pain and conflict of separation, and moving away to the Northern Rivers. It wasn't easy before, during and after for any of us.

And so, it was 40 years ago, that my conflict with Christmas began.

None of this was clear to me back then... I was just a child...

My sibling and I would sometimes have Christmas with Dad, sometimes with Mum...

I remember we took our first flights together, without a parent, when I was 5 years old. I am sure it was with ANSETT, at the gate, one parent would introduce us to an air hostess, who would take care of us until we reached the other parent, 2 hours later. One time, on the return flight to Gold Coast airport, we both were terrified as we banked over the ocean to come around to land, we thought we were going to crash. I can't remember any adult correcting us on our fear, and it wasn't until we were over land again that we calmed down.

There's my step family too, and both of those relationships with my parents ended and I often had to choose between visiting Mum, Dad, or step Dad... My options grew at various points in my life, but the choice never came easy. The feelings and emotions around this time of year were conflicting, if I chose one, I'd be hurting the other... If I enjoyed my time with one, I was hurting the other.

And so began my belief that I was not worthy of love or affection, and particularly on family holidays, because my family weren't together, I did not deserve joy. Part of the response to experiences I had as a child, was that I took on the responsibility of my parents' emotional well being, and because I couldn't make everyone happy... Well, I wasn't a good person.

When I moved to the UK at age 22, things didn't improve around Christmas time either. At the time I hadn't 'moved' to the UK, but there was no exit strategy either. I was enjoying my 'holiday', and if things got too much or I ran out of money, I could always go back home and start again. In the end, that mindset kept me in Europe for 18 rollercoaster years.

I remember my first Christmas in Nottinghamshire.

It was all new and exciting to be overseas, and the British weather was actually fun, it was so different to Australia! The winter days were short, but the Christmas lights were on, and my partner at the time spoilt me rotten with just about anything I asked, all the while making the house homely, warm and inviting. She is Swedish, IKEA was just down the road, you get the idea...

I had no idea about my neurodivergence, and I was just a full on Aussie kid abroad, mostly ignoring social cues, drinking like a fish, and eating like a pig.

Eating and drinking my emotions. Distractions, and some pushing it under the carpet.

The most vivid memory I have during all the festivities on Christmas Day, was upstairs sitting in our bedroom weeping. The dark clouds had rolled in. Living in the UK sure was exciting! Downstairs there was a table full of food, 3 different types of meat, and 3 different types of potato!! Boxing Day we were going to the pub, and lighting fireworks was legal in this country!

What's not to enjoy?

In that moment, none of that mattered, I was feeling something I didn't understand, and I just needed to cry.

Crying can come with its own set of feelings too, guilt, shame, embarrassment... Not only was I feeling low (depressed is the word I'd use these days), but I was angry at myself for feeling low when all these amazing things were happening around me.

I am sure it happened previously, however it definitely happened that day, where I said to myself 'You shouldn't be feeling this way, stop it. You shouldn't be crying, what is wrong with you?'.

Then, my father in law just walked in the room!

A Swedish viking of a man, strong as an ox, great with his family and someone who I came to love very much. He sat and chatted with me, gave me a hug, which just made me cry even more. Surely I don't deserve any love right now, I am crying, snot everywhere and you're so strong, and I am weak.

He shared with me his experiences when he left Sweden to live in the UK. He and I had common ground. We both left our homeland in our early 20's for love, and both struggled during Christmas time. He said he cried at Christmas too, particularly in the early days. It was a beautiful moment, having someone who understood where I was coming from, even if I didn't quite understand it myself.

During that time, I felt some relief that I didn't have to choose between which parents to visit at Christmas, because I chose none. I was living too far away, and unless there were plans made in advance, I didn't have any one-on-one time. In the 18 Christmases I was away, I think I was home for 2, and I had family visit for 3.

Over the years in England, I continued to struggle during Christmas, New Year and my birthday, and didn't focus any energy into understanding what was happening within me. I mean, therapy? No way man...

I did change my drinking habits over the years, mostly increasing my intake. However, in England, after an intense 4 day session at my first Hemsby Rock and Roll Weekender in October 2002, I decided I wouldn't drink between the weekender until Christmas. I think I kept that up continuously while in England for 6 years.

2+ months without a drop.

Come Christmas Day, with my alcohol tolerance low and my anxiety, depression, hyperactivity and need to get through the day high, I was set for beer o'clock as early as socially tolerable. When I moved to Germany in 2008, I continued with the abstinence, usually for the month of January, including my birthday. Silvester (German for New Years Eve) was a big night. I'd have a show, and they were all-night affairs. I could drink from sundown to sun-up, all the while playing, entertaining, laughing with friends and giving my liver a good work out.

Then I'd wake up 1st January, and not touch a drop until 1st February.

Deciding not to drink on my birthday became a way to punish myself, because like Christmas Day, I should not be enjoying myself. I am miles away from family, Christmas continued to be a painful experience, and I do not deserve kindness, joy, or love at this time, from others or myself.

In fact, I felt I didn't deserve any love or joy, at any time of the year.

Over the years, the negative self talk crept in and it didn't leave, and so my feelings that I was not a good person increased. I believed I was a bad person, I was not a good friend, I was not a good partner. I knew I hurt people (some times repeatedly) and it was all my fault. I felt shame for who I was, and what I did to others. At the time I didn't consider the pain I was causing myself.

Don't get the wrong idea, there were many many fun times too. My life has been something like a hike from the coast along the length of the Great Dividing Range here in Australia, or maybe like hiking from the Bodensee to Matterhorn.

The highest of highs, and the lowest of lows.

It wasn't like every waking moment I wished I was dead, but those moments were there. And it wasn't like I could get the highs to plateau and I could maintain that euphoric feeling that allowed me to feel a little love for myself.

I treated myself like the toxic person I fully believed I was, and in doing so, treated others around me accordingly. I was a walking talking example of that old saying 'you can't love someone until you love yourself'.

My past romantic relationships were terrible. We often felt the highest of highs, but the lows were so low that I can barely go back to those days. I do not like how they played out; how I played them out. I was not a kind or loving person. How could I be? I was not kind or loving to myself.

Self loathing, and low self worth leading to projection, and then my partner's reaction. This confirms my own feelings about who I am and what I deserve, leading to lower and lower feelings of self worth and self hatred. More projection, more reactions, more frustration... you get the picture...

The spiralling circle completed itself from my first serious relationship.

My lack of insight did not help one bit.

In early 2012, when I was struggling with the aftermath of my divorce, I finally asked for help. Surprisingly, I remember most of the day clearly. I was having a panic attack, and I couldn't focus at work. Although we never showed each other vulnerability before in our relationship, I called my partner and asked for help.

It was the beginning of my recovery.

It took 3 years to recognise the unhealthy affect drinking had on me. I usually draw a line in the sand at this point in time, where I had the most significant recognition and made the most healthy decision in my recovery journey.

I engaged in almost 8 years of weekly talk therapy in Germany, and continue 'ad hoc' sessions here in Australia.

During those years of therapy, my therapist pulled out, sometimes dragging, kicking and screaming, the details of my experiences, and helped guide me to acknowledge and reflect on my interpretation of those experiences.

And when he felt the time was right, he would challenge me...

So as the dark clouds of Christmas began to roll in, he challenged me good and proper, with just one statement. I was talking about how low I usually felt around Christmas time, and that I wasn't looking forward to another wasted festive season sitting in my self loathing and negative mindset. That I rarely felt real joy in December or January, even though I have shows, I party and I laugh. That's a facade that I keep up because it's part of my job and I don't want to let anyone around me down.

He'd heard a lot of it before, and listened without interrupting me. Once I finished, he responded: 'You know, you are allowed to feel happy at Christmas time'.

That sentence literally stopped me in my tracks. Almost immediately I felt a shift in the direction of my thoughts. I questioned my therapist: How could he even say that? What does that mean? Is giving myself permission to feel happy something I can do? How do you give yourself permission to do that? Why hadn't I ever heard of this before?

From then on, we talked in more detail how I could break my 30+ years of habitual depressive festive seasons and low self love, not to mention other things that were keeping me stuck now that my therapist had opened the flood gates.

That was the day the seed was planted.

I don't think I can put into words the amount of personal growth and learning I had from all those years of sessions. Countless times my therapist challenged me, then picked me up, supported me to process and gain further understanding about myself.

Over time, I learnt that fighting feelings creates a barrier for processing and learning about my emotions and their causes. Once I learnt to acknowledge my feelings, without judgement, I began to learn how to question where those feelings might be coming from, and how best to work through them in the future.

Looking back to my first Christmas Day in England, I know now it was OK to feel low and to express that by crying. It was OK to feel guilt and sadness too. When I look deeper, those feelings were wrapped around the choice to leave my family and live in the UK. It's natural that I would miss them, and it was OK to have a good time without them too. It certainly doesn't mean my choice to leave equals I am a bad person.

I learnt to disconnect the dots.

He helped me learn to love myself, and that my past choices (particularly those made as a child), don't make me a bad person. These days I can live with a decision that may not have turned out as expected, because I know I made the best decision I could on the day. We talked about how to build self love and self worth through practising self-compassion, forgiveness and self care.

I learnt to build awareness surrounding my own capacity to set and achieve tasks, to respond to others requests or to engage socially. These days I am more aware of how much and what type of energy I have, and learning to be OK with putting myself first by saying no. Perhaps the biggest thing I've learned has been that saying 'No' is OK. The next item on the learning agenda for me is to say no, without giving a reason, or defending the decision.

You know, small steps, it's a life long journey.

We worked through my beliefs and values surrounding my relationship with myself and others, including what it means to forgive, both myself and others. That's been one rough journey, particularly when it comes to my family dynamics, and how those dynamics have influenced me over the years. I have learnt what is important to me in my relationships, and how I can have a better relationship with myself.

It's taken several years to really shift those beliefs, and a few more to put all I have learnt into practice. It's taken the last 10 years unlearning the first 30 years!

During those years in Germany, not only did my therapist help me in the moment, but he helped me build up my skills to challenge myself too, that seed he planted sure is growing!

These days I am able to ask myself 'why?', and then 'why?' again, without judgement, often finding answers, while gaining insight and awareness into who I am, and how I want to be. I am often finding myself to be more and more reflective, and I have learnt to take accountability and responsibility for my actions.

All of these changes have provided my heart with the love that it needs, and my mind the rest it needs to find peace.

These days, most days, I consider myself to be a good person.

Sometimes I still catch myself heading in the direction of the old ways, or maybe it's pointed out to me by someone close. In that respect, I'm grateful that I learnt that I am perfectly imperfect, and I can forgive myself for such 'terrible transgressions' in my recovery journey.

Over the years, I have continued to struggle with my depression and self love. For example, being stranded in Germany in 2020, or the floods in 2022, were hard, and I have lapsed into some deep holes. Overall, there has been a consistent improvement in my mood and my feelings of self love.

The seed from all those years ago, has grown into a big ol' oak with a yellow ribbon around it! My understanding of myself, and that I can make choices and grow towards a healthy life, really began to change that day when I was challenged about a belief I had held onto for years about who I am.

Now I'd like to write about the real reason you are reading, Christmas Day 2024.

Alex and I were both looking forward to spending time with mum, and we arrived at her place, coffee and presents in hand, to share a meal and open our gifts to each other.

Mum put on her favourite Christmas album, a vinyl copy of Die Roten Rosen's 'Wir Warten Auf's Christkind', which is a German punk band playin' Christmas hits in English and German. Go ahead and Spotify it next Christmas!

I lit the candles on Mum's 'Weihnachtspyramide', which is a traditional Christmas decoration that creates a carousel-type display using the heat from the candles to spin. Mum's has the Frauenkirche in Dresden on it, another German connection.

I put on a Santa hat.

We talked, laughed, and enjoyed seeing the happiness on each others faces as we opened our presents. Funnily enough, our last present of the day to each other all looked the same wrapped, somewhat large, square and thin. Turns out, we had all bought each other new records!!

Afterwards, I stuffed myself with Mum's breakfast. Alex and Mum were more gentle to their tummys.

We played Alex's new record.

Alex and I had plans to spend the afternoon together, just hanging out at home. Life has gotten very busy for us both lately, we have had very few moments to relax together, and so off we went home, to air con, our new gifts, and BB.

On the drive home, Alex put her hand on my leg, and said she was really happy. Happy for both of us. Happy that I was having a good Christmas. I questioned her use of words, 'happy I was having a good Christmas'. She thought we had had a fun and joyful Christmas, particularly in light of the fact that, historically, Christmas hasn't been easy for me.

Alex's comment literally stopped me in my tracks.

She was right, it was a good Christmas!

In fact, I don't remember forecasting or experiencing any of the usual seasonal dark clouds of thunder this festive season. There was no inner battle, no fighting with myself, or anyone else for that matter. I wasn't focusing on preparing myself for the low season, because it didn't occur to me that it would happen. There were none of the usual warning signs. There was no negative self talk, no blame or shame.

I survived... No, that's not quite right, I thrived.

I felt really good. I felt joy. I felt content. One might even say, I felt healed, but I'm not sure I wanna put that much pressure on myself just yet. I'll keep it simple and direct:

I feel happy.

Wow, just wow. How good does this feel? Is this what shiny happy people feel? How uplifting? How exciting? What a wild ride it has been, I know it still is, but I wanna enjoy this moment for a little longer...

After all these years, my habitual, muscle memory, go-to behaviour has become joy, happiness, gratitude, forgiveness, and love.

And then Alex summed it up perfectly, 'I'm just happy that you're happy...'

Thanks for reading,

Josh

#ohmyjoshofficial #mental health #alcohol recovery #personal growth #family ties #therapy #mental wellbeing #negative self talk #negative self image

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