#today leek number

[maniculum]

Bread for a Wit-Sick Man

When recording the podcast today, we read a bit from the Old English Leechbook, as we often do. And today we read a remedy for a "wit sick man" that suggested (in addition to other things) feeding him "hallowed bread and cheese and garlic and cropleek". I thought that sounded pretty good, so after recording I decided to pop by the grocery store and give my complete lack of cooking skill a try. (No hallowing involved.)

I will now record my experience.

Step One

Purchase the following with an eye to your budget:

sliced french bread (store brand)

three green onions ("cropleek" is a pretty broad term, and since I could find neither leeks nor shallots, I figured this was close enough; there are three of them because they come in bundles of three.)

one bulb of garlic

wedge of brie (half-price because it expires tomorrow)

Step Two

Slice all three onions and the whole bulb of garlic because you don't cook that much and you don't trust yourself to use this stuff up later if you don't use it all now.

Step Three

Decide this dish would probably be better warm and preheat the oven to 400F because that seems like a reasonable (and round) number. Get a baking sheet. Spread brie on slices of bread until there's no room on the baking sheet for more.

Step Four

Look at the eight slices of bread on your baking sheet, realizing how small your only baking sheet is. Put way too much onion and garlic on each slice in a doomed attempt to use it all.

Step Five

Half-remember something about how restaurant food is supposedly better because they put ridiculous amounts of butter on everything. Maybe this will save you. Consider that you should have added the butter before the leeks & garlic. Shrug and put a slice of butter on top of each bread-slice anyway, balancing it on the leeks.

Step Six

Realize everything is going to fall off of these slices as soon as you pick them up, and cover them in an excessive quantity of shredded cheese in the hopes that the cheese, when melted, will glue everything down like on a pizza.

Step Seven

Vacillate between cooking for 10 minutes and 15 minutes because you have no idea what reasonable cooking times are but it doesn't seem like it should take a hugely long time to warm the bread and melt the cheese. Decide to split the difference with 12 minutes.

Step Eight

Post on Tumblr while your creation cooks and then subsequently cools.

[british-rail]

Hey so fun fact: The North Staffordshire Railway had 4 locos running with the number 1 at once

a New L class 0-6-2T (photo is of surviving sister loco No. 2)

A strange looking railmotor

A 2-6-4T 2 ft 6 in NG loco on the Leek and Manifold Valley Light Railway (also the only named loco on this list, E. R. Calthrop)

And a small 0-4-0 Battery electric loco (only loco on this list that survives today)

[wrightingdungeon]

Dear Diary

Evelyn and George, I love them so much.

ANGST! GET YOUR ANGST HERE!

POV Evelyn’s Diary - shes 19/20 RN - WILL HAVE TIME SKIPS - None of this is cannon beside pop pop blowing up - BTW George still blows himself up oop - Imagine getting snips of her Diary not the whole book - Im not sorry for how I end this - fight me

I did make a kinda sequel right here featuring Alex a lot more angst over here "The Past Reborn"

"Happy ends"

Today is Spring, 8, 1965.

While working in the clinic today, a miner came in, but he wasn't like the other miners. He almost dropped his cap taking it off while trying to introduce himself. His name is George, and he came in for an injury on his hand. The rope he was holding had slipped from his grip, causing a severe rope burn across his palm.

He apologized for tracking coal dust into the clinic, which no miner has ever apologized for before. I don't think their mothers explained how hard it is to get coal dust out of the bed sheets, but it's my job, so I shouldn't complain much. I just hope George will be okay. I told him he should inform his foreman that it's doctor's orders he not work until his hand heals completely.

Today is Spring, 12, 1965

The doctor was out of town today, having a call outside of town. The clinic ran as usual, although I had to tell some people to return tomorrow to see the doctor. Despite a few cases, today was a good day. Mr. George came back, and his hand has healed phenomenally. It still has a bit more healing to do, but it doesn't look like it will leave a bad scar.

I must admit, when I was holding his hand and inspecting his burn, I couldn't help but feel light-headed. George is not a bad-looking man, and his smile is so kind, His miner's cap always tosses his brown hair, and his eyes always have a twinkle in them. I’m afraid I’m a horrid nurse, feeling these things for someone in my care.

Today is Spring, 20, 1965.

George came by the clinic today. His hand looked better, but that wasn't the reason he came. He brought me a bundle of tulips, thanking me for all the care I had given him. I'm looking at them in my window right now, and I can't help but smile. He is such a kind man. I can't quite figure out how he knew what flowers I fancy, but does that matter? They are so beautiful.

I am sad, though, because George's hand has healed fully, and now he has no reason to come to the clinic. I should be happy—he's healed, and I did my job—but my heart aches knowing I won't see his smile or his twinkling eyes again. Like I said, I must be a horrid nurse.

Today is Summer, 4, 1965

I saw George again today. I was at the market shopping for dinner when I reached for a leek, and my hand touched his. His laughter is much more boisterous than his voice, which was a pleasant surprise. It's nice discovering things about him—he is like a book I don't want to put down.

He offered to cook me dinner as a proper thank you for helping him. I should have said no, but I said yes. Now, I'm sitting here, terrified to go to his home. I've never had anyone other than my mother cook for me. My heart is fluttering.

Today is Summer, 13, 1965

I have heard the number thirteen is unlucky, but I believe it to be lucky. This evening, I heard a knock at my door. It was George, dressed nicely with his hair neatly fixed. He handed me flowers and asked me out to a gridball game.

What do I wear? I want to impress George. I haven't been on a date before.

The date went so well! George's team won, and he was so happy. We got sorbet afterward to celebrate, and George took my hand in his as we walked. I really do believe the number thirteen is lucky.

Today is Summer, 28, 1965

It has been two weeks of me and George going steady, and it feels like a dream. When George finishes his shift in the mines, he comes to the clinic and walks me home. He is such a gentleman, nothing like the other miners I have met. Tonight was just magical. As George walked me to the door, I could tell something was off. His hands sweat when he is nervous, and I swear they were dripping.

He looked at me, his face as red as a beet, and asked if he could kiss me. His lips are soft and warm. It's embarrassing to admit, but his mouth does taste like cigarettes. Oh, I think I am in love, and I don't know what to do.

Today is Winter, 20, 1965

I can't believe it… George asked me out again today. He took me to the cliff to watch the sunset. He was sweating again and refused to look at me. When I asked him what was wrong, he just caged up further. I thought he was breaking up with me, but then he grabbed me as I got up to leave. His words fumbled over each other, and he almost fell over as he rushed to his knee.

George proposed to me. He told me I was the most beautiful woman he had ever met and that he couldn't stop thinking about me since he burned his hand with that rope. I'm so excited—I'm going to be George's wife soon. I just wish Mother was still with me so she could see this.

Today is Fall, 14, 1970

I can't sleep. George had an accident today at the mines. It was terrible; they had to rush him to the city. The doctor sent me home, saying I was a wreck. I can't stop crying, picturing him covered in blood and bruises on the operating table. Someone said he dropped dynamite.

Please, Yoba, don't take my George. After losing my parents, he's all I have. I can't bear to be alone again. He's my everything—the love of my life. The house feels empty without him. Every corner holds memories of him, and I can't imagine life without him.

Yoba, you've always answered my prayers. Please, I was so alone after Mother and Father passed, please don't take him from me as well.

Today is Spring, 2, 1971

They finally allowed George to come home from the hospital, albeit in a wheelchair. But that doesn't matter to me. What matters is that he's home and on the mend. It's a new chapter for both of us, one filled with challenges and uncertainties. Sometimes, George can be a bit rude, but I can see the fear in his eyes.

I made a promise to stand by him no matter what: for better or worse, in sickness and in health, till death do us part. And I intend to keep that promise. I'll be there for George, caring for him and cherishing our time together, no matter what lies ahead.

Today is Winter, 2, 1976

This is a happy day! Me and George weren't sure I could become pregnant, but I am! We are so excited to see our child. George has been working in the nursery non-stop, making sure he can care for our baby, not allowing that wheelchair to stop him.

I have decided on two names: Clara for a daughter and Coy for a son. I don't care what we have; I know they will be perfect.

Today is Summer, 10, 1977

Clara is perfect. With George's rich brown hair and my green eyes, she's a sight to behold. Despite her small stature, her eyes hold the same glimmer of curiosity as her father's. I know she will cause all kinds of trouble as she grows up just like her father.

As I watch George cradle her with such gentleness, his protective gaze never leaving her, and the tears of love that well up in his eyes as he whispers soothing words to her, I'm reminded once again of how blessed I am to have him by my side. In moments like these, it's crystal clear that I've married the most wonderful man.

Today is Summer, 13, 2000

I knew the number thirteen was lucky. Today, our grandson Alex was born. As I held him in my arms, I couldn't help but notice how much he resembled his mother, right down to the tiny button nose that mirrored hers when she was born. George was worried about Clara, complaining that everyone was here to see just Alex and not his baby girl. He has always been such a good father; he will be the best grandfather as well.

Looking at my family as it has grown, I’ve gone from an empty home after my parents passed, to a husband, a daughter, and now a son-in-law and a beautiful grandson. I love my family dearly and can't wait for the years ahead of us.

Fall, 16, 2004 This page is heavily tear stained

We took Alex for the day taking him to the fair as Clara wanted him to experience it. I can't believe we got lucky enough to have Alex… George's scream echoes in my mind… Did he scream with that pain when he was blown up?

We thought the phone call was Clara telling us that they would be late picking up Alex. The phone call shattered our hopes—it was the Zuzu Highway Patrol delivering the tragic news. Clara and her husband are gone… Victims of a drunk driver on the wrong side of the road. They didn't survive.

But we have Alex…. We have to tell our four-year-old grandson he can't go home anymore… He can't see his Mother or Father ever again

Yoba, why didn't you shield them?

[annaizscribbling]

In which the farmer is not quite human. Pt 2: Willy

Willy pulled his old wool coat a little closer to his chest. That battered old flannel had seen more years than some of the younger folk in town. They just didn’t make coats like that anymore.  The ocean air was bitingly cold. The fish weren’t really biting today, but he’d stay out until dinner time. He wasn’t the type of man to mix up his routine; even when the fish were being stubborn. The ocean never claimed to be predictable, or even kind. It owed him nothing. Willy simply knew how to withstand the tide.

He doesn’t notice the sound of rhythmic footsteps over the crashing waves. The farmer approaches.

“Ahoy there, Lass,” Willy says gruffly, nodding at her as she walks up.

The farmer smiled at him. She wasn’t much of a talker, that girl. Usually, she just nods or shakes her head, unless she’s really got something to say. Her tanned skin and calloused hands echoed her occupation. Through sheer willpower she managed to jumpstart the local economy through her farming, mining, foraging, and of course her fishing. The farmer was a good fisherman. Well. Fisherwoman, he supposed. She recently got hitched to Robin’s son, the sickly lad. They seemed happy though.

 “It’s late,” Willy says, rebaiting his hook for the umpteenth time, “don’t you farmer have to get up early?”

With another smile, the farmer just shrugged. Young people. Never stop long enough to hear themselves think, Willy supposed. Though perhaps the farmer girl wasn’t quite the same.

Another cold breeze swept over the waters. Willy bit back a shiver.

The farmer did not react to the cold. In fact, she was in a thin knit shirt, not equipped with sleeves, and decorated with a pattern reminiscent of a ribcage. That and a pair of baggy cargo pants. It was hardly winter attire. She didn’t have on so much as a hat or a pair of gloves, yet here she was, fishing beside him.

She threw her line in the water, without even baiting it. She just cast her line. Granted, it was excellent cast, going an impressive number of yards out. But still, it was a plain hook. She wouldn’t catch a damn thing.

“Come on, Lass. No bait?” Willy said with a raised an eyebrow.

The farmer stretched her neck, keeping a careful watch on her line. “Forgot it,” she said simply.

Willy shook his head; he’d taught her better than that. Maybe the cold was getting to her head. She was never going to catch any—

The farmer began to get a sharp pull on her line, carefully, masterfully even, she began reeling in a fish with precision. In less than a minute she held aloft an albacore. A massive one.

Willy stared at her.

“… good catch,” Willy said after a long pause.

She just nodded once, before throwing another baitless hook into the water. Willy just watched her, not exactly paying much attention to his own line anymore. Sure, the farmer was an odd little duck, and he was fond of her, but sometimes …

Sometimes he wasn’t so sure what she was. He can only chalk up so many things to the fact she used to be a city girl. City girls don’t spend six hours digging up clay on the beach for no apparent reason. They don’t fell half a forest in an afternoon, or remain forever untouched by the elements or fatigue. Harvey once told him at Gus’s that occasionally she’ll collapse in the mines, covered in slime and monster blood. She’ll return in the morning more often than not. It’s the only time either of them had ever seen her anything other than wide awake and energized,

Willy snaps out of his thoughts when he sees her rummaging in her bag out of the corner of his eyes. The farmer pulls out an uncovered bowl of soup and a raw leek. She quickly devours both things. Willy doesn’t ask any questions. If there are answers to be given, it isn’t his business.

They fish in silence, with Willy scoring a catch and the farmer catching six more fish of her own.

He’s done asking questions. She’s a great fishing companion. She respects the water. Willy’s leaving it there.

Part one

[vaya-writes]

The Wyvern's Bride - Part 3.3

When Adalyn gets sacrificed to the local wyvern, she’s a little annoyed and a lot terrified. Upon meeting the wyvern, she discovers that he’s not particularly interested in eating people, and mostly wants to be left alone. In a plot to save himself from the responsibilities his family keep pushing on him, Slate names Adalyn as his human Envoy, and tasks her with finding him a wife.

4800 words. Cis female human x Cis male wyvern (slow burn, arranged marriage, eventual smut). firefly-graphics did the divider.

Masterlist - Previous

Get excited. A large portion of this is Slate's POV. And by the Gods please don't let me edit this a third time. I'm done. If I left any filler words or random parts bolded for later fixing, no I didn't.

Slate is gone when Adalyn wakes. She’s sensing a pattern and wonders how he manages to wake and leave before she does, despite her baker instincts to be up before sunrise. 

Not in any rush, Adalyn fortifies herself with a cup of tea out on the balcony, snacking on some old biscuits. She cooks jam on toast over the fire, frowning at the mess cluttering the hearth. She takes a moment to straighten the equipment and jars – she's keen to get cooking, but with Slate’s explicit permission to organise his belongings, part of her is tempted to spend the morning rearranging.  

Still, they’d purchased a week’s worth of groceries yesterday, and she plans to experiment. After she’s fed and dressed, she heads down to the kitchen, lighting the room once she arrives. They’d visited Northpoint, the main trade hub of the valley, and Adalyn had managed to procure some sugar. Slate had smiled at her excitement at seeing the ware, and purchased the merchant’s whole stock.  

She spends half the morning baking, experimenting with recipes that exist only as scraps in her family journal, or as fragments in her memory. The shortcrust biscuits are a little sweet and the pastries don’t keep the shape she wants, but the sweet rolls turn out beautifully, and she makes note of the recipe she’d used. 

When the dining area begins to lighten, Adalyn starts to prepare lunch. She packs a basket, and is off towards the main-way, excited to showcase her food for the day. 

Slate is working on the same passage as last time, and she waits expectantly by the stream bank as he washes off and joins her on the blanket she’d laid out.  

“Potato and leek pottage. Bread of the day. Wine,” she gestures to each in turn. 

He smiles. “You’re an absolute blessing, Adalyn.” 

She blushes and stares at her food. “There’s like three breads of the day, but this one turned out best.” 

Slate lets out an appreciative groan when tears into the loaf and raises it to his nose. “I believe you.” 

They eat in silence for a few minutes, before Adalyn tries to start a conversation.   

“What are you working on today?” 

 Slate grins at the inquiry. “I’ve pretty much dug to the right spot. Now it’s time to start hollowing out a living space.” 

“What do you do with all the stone?” 

He shrugs. “I set it aside. Most of it is good for sculpting. I can use it for furnishing, or steps, or block facades. Though some of it is as good as slag by the time I’m through.” 

Adalyn nods contemplatively. Realises that they’re sitting in a makeshift limestone quarry. She’s musing about the other uses of the stone, wondering if there’s any further use, or if Slate would sell the material when he interrupts. 

“Have you given any thought to what you’ll call your wing?” 

She starts from her thoughts. Raises a brow. “Can’t I just call it my wing? My chambers. My tower?” 

“You can. But where’s the fun? It’ll be big enough to be its own fort, at least.” 

A pang of unease goes through Adalyn. If she were self-reliant in her quarters, wouldn’t that mean less reason to visit Slate and the Tower? 

She shrugs, pushing the feeling down. “From the valley they look like they’re in a row. Sometimes we number them. The Tower is fifth...” 

Slate hits his knee with a fist, excited. “I like the way you think. That’d make your mountain the fourth?” 

“Yes.” 

“We could call it Fourth Spire? Fothspire? Fourth Peak?” 

Adalyn busies herself with her food. Watching the enthusiasm in Slate’s demeanour stings, just a little. “Fourth Spire is fitting.” 

There’s a silence while they eat. Slate shoots Adalyn some careful stares, sensing something amiss. “What are your plans for the day?” 

Adalyn glances to the sky. The sun is high overhead, stretching into the afternoon. “Dunno. Maybe I’ll clean your desk.” She means it as a joke, but considers with some seriousness. 

Slate purses his lips. “If it makes you happy, dearest.” 

She takes pity on him and huffs a laugh. Some of her tension seeps away. “Did you have a system you’d like me to adhere to?” 

He pouts down at his food. “Not presently.” 

“And the books you’ve left out. They’re quite numerous...” 

He fidgets. “I might be referencing some of them.” 

“Even the ones left on the floor?” 

“Well, maybe not those.” 

Adalyn teases him with a smile. “I also meant to inquire about your book-marking system.” 

He meets her eyes, despairing. “... What book-marking system?” 

“The one where you leave books open or close them on a variety of... strange things. Feathers. Receipts. Fabrics. Unidentified plant matter.” 

He shifts. “Well, you know dog earring is terrible for parchment.” 

  “So is staining the pages with potion ingredients, dearest.” She pushes back with the new endearment. 

He covers his silence by scraping the bottom of his bowl. 

Adalyn relents. “If they’re not an elaborate bookmarking system I’ll just remove them then? At least from the books not currently in use?” 

He relaxes a bit. “I should be grateful for your care, Adalyn. I admit the treatment of my hoard is not always delicate.” 

She permits another soft smile. “Would that I knew how to care for your belongings. I’ve never cleaned armour or weapons, and I fear to touch half of your possessions for worry of mistreating them.” 

He stretches. Gives her a sheepish look. “I’ll show you then. If you’ll remain patient. I’m not fond of cleaning but you’ve my permission to wrest the best methods out of me.” 

She raises her brows. Considers the chance to spend more time with her husband, under the guise of learning and cleaning. 

Weary at her interest, Slate stands and dances back. “Later, though. You’ll not have me that easily.” 

She scowls at him. “Tease.” 

--- 

By sunset Adalyn has cleared the walkways significantly. She doesn’t know how so many tomes found their way onto the floor when they’d tidied less than a week prior. Slate exudes a special kind of chaos. Despite his list and his priorities, it seems the wyvern can’t help but start other projects on a whim, falling victim to tangents and rabbit holes much too easily. 

She doesn’t even know what half his side projects pertain to. Just that their shopping trip in the valley had resulted in them visiting all three major settlements and stopping to speak with every experienced tradesperson they crossed. 

He’d been so enthused by the time they got home – evening, despite their morning start – that he’d raced off to work on something that night and had completely missed dinner. 

He’d eaten at least – the food was gone when she woke this morning. Along with her husband. And with Slate dismissing her at lunch – albeit playfully – and now running late for dinner again, Adalyn feels the itch of rejection chafing at her once more. 

She knows it was foolish to assume that it’d be a perfect transition. That things between them would stay simple and easy. They've been married... five days now. Complications are to be expected.  

But she still wonders if Slate even notices her disconnect. If he feels as estranged as she does. She doesn’t know if he’s rushing the construction of her quarters because he wants her gone, or if he’s being dutiful and kind, or if he’s just hyper-fixating on his next big project. She doesn’t know, because he hasn’t given her any indication. Hasn’t spoken to her about anything serious. Has barely spent any alone time with her. 

She finishes her dinner and covers Slates before standing to pace, restless. She scours the room for something else to do before flopping into the desk chair and scowling at Slate’s desk. Blueprints and plans are scattered around.  

Part of her feels small and dumb. Because each night after dinner, if he remembers to attend, Slate spends hours poring over these papers, drafting out his plans and thumbing through his reference books. Small and dumb because of the jealousy she feels towards some parchment. She wants to resent the paperwork. Envies the attention Slate gives it.  

But she relaxes incrementally and lets out a sigh. She doesn’t hate his work. Listening to him talk about engineering and different types of construction, watching him get so animated; she feels guilty for being so angry over something that obviously brings him so much joy.  

And it’s not as if Slate had promised her romance.  

He’d married out of self-interest. To discourage his family. An act of pettiness, or rebellion, she’d thought when he’d first revealed the plan.  

It only hurts because she likes him. 

Her fingers brush the scale that she keeps in her pocket. She grits her teeth at the acknowledgement. Then pushes the thought away. Her feelings for the wyvern aren’t something she wants to contemplate yet, even as she skirts around the truth of them. 

Adalyn lets out a sigh and chides herself. There’s no point dwelling on it. Especially if she refuses to act. And tonight, she doesn’t feel like doing either. 

--- 

The following morning, Slate stirs from his spot on the chaise as the room, barely perceptibly, begins to lighten. He groans, stretches, and nearly falls onto the floor. His cheeks darken, despite the lack of audience to his mishap.  

Slipping back into autonomy, Slate makes his way to the partitioned wash area and fills the basin with fresh water. He splashes his face and dresses for the day. The sun’s not up yet, but rays of red light – probably imperceptible to the human eye – are filtering into the room. Enough to let Slate know it’s time for him to start the day. 

He makes himself coffee. Adalyn had tried the bitter drink once and nearly spat it out, to his great amusement. He supposes that it’s an acquired taste, and as remote as they are, it’s not like any of the locals would have the chance to get used to it. 

He scarfs down a handful of Adalyn’s biscuits, puts another log on the fire, and lingers by the bed. He adjusts the blankets on his wife before leaving in a rush, not allowing himself to stare for too long. 

It’s a bad habit. 

He shouldn’t have started it. Shouldn’t keep indulging it. If she knew how he fussed, how often he touches her without permission... He hates to think of what she’d do if she found out he’d been pushing the boundaries like that. Especially with how touch sensitive humans supposedly are. 

Slate flies to the main entrance before shifting into his demi form and going on foot to Fourth Spire. The ground floor is gradually opening up, and he’s paying close attention to the central column. 

It’s thick, acting as both a support within the tower, and a centralised route up and down the floors once he hollows it out into a large spiral staircase. He hopes Adalyn likes it. Still, part of his mind ticks away at the design, wondering if there’s anything he can add, anything he can do to make carrying things up and down the Spire any easier for his human wife.  

Ready to begin, he lets shadows gather at his fingertips. Feels the weight of keratin form into large claws. In his demi form his muscles are already prepared for the weight the transformation brings. More scales appear across his forearms, the dense patches protecting him from any loose debris that might go airborne. 

Then he begins carving. 

Taking breaks only to sip at a skin of water, he loses himself in the sounds of the earth and the rhythm of his work, pausing occasionally to check that the angles and measurements aren’t out of order. It has to be perfect. Sure, it’s only the first shaping of the stairs. He’d go over it with his chisels once the basic shape had been found. But he moves carefully, not willing to make any mistakes with Adalyn’s quarters.  

She’d been... withdrawn last night. Pale and wan once she’d fallen asleep. There’d been a strange undercurrent in the air when he’d landed on the balcony and found her reading in the back corner.  

Seeing his covered dinner plate had shamed him. Once more he’d been late for dinner. Once more he’d promised himself he’d do better. He’d check the sky. He’d stop work early. But deep beneath the surface it’s hard to keep track of the time. Even if his eyes can cut through the dark with perfect clarity, he has no way of knowing what time it is. Especially as he gets lost in his work. (Especially as he can’t find anyone to fix that blasted timepiece). 

There’s the crunch of footsteps and he pauses in his work. Turns to regard Adalyn, waiting by the entrance with a torch. 

Controlling his delight, Slate wipes his hands on his pants and banishes his claws, trying to appear somewhat collected. Somewhat normal. Human. Palatable, he thinks. 

He gives her a polite smile. “What brings you today?” 

Her brief lunch visits are perhaps the only time she seems open. Relaxed. He looks forward to their little appointments, even if half the time he doesn’t know what to say or how to act.  

She crinkles her nose as she looks around the space. For a moment his heart skips a beat. Is something wrong with it? 

“I don’t know how you breathe through all this dust. If a human worked in these conditions they’d probably get black lung.” 

Relief floods him at the comment. Then embarrassment. Ancestors, he cares too much about her opinion.  

“Black lung is caused by scarring to the lung tissue. Most dracanoids are resistant to minor scarring and damages.” 

“Resistant,” Adalyn corrects, “but not immune.” 

Her concern is sweet enough, endearing enough, that his smile softens. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Her ears turn pink, and she turns away. “Did you want some lunch?” 

He follows her out into the mainway, sheds his footwear, and steps into the stream. The water is icy and he grits his teeth before dunking himself and rubbing the grey dust away.  

Curiously, Adalyn doesn’t watch, instead unpacking their blanket and lunch with careful movements, barely sparing him a glance. It’s his second clue that something is up, as most afternoons she can’t keep her eyes off of him, much to his pleasure.  

Dripping, but clean, Slate joins her at the makeshift picnic, sitting cross legged across from her. He eats the food with gusto, hoping the sounds and motions can convey what he struggles to do so with words. When Adalyn produces a flask of coffee, still hot, he almost swoons. 

“A female after my own heart,” he mutters, sipping at the brew. He misses the way she stills at his words. “So what are your plans for the day?” 

She shrugs before drinking from her own flask of tea. “I was just going to explore. Maybe experiment in the kitchen later. Do something different for dinner.” 

Something in his chest warms. “I’ll look forward to trying it.” 

She huffs. “Don’t be so enthused. I could end up poisoning us if I go too wild.” 

“I’m not worried.” 

Adalyn is silent for a moment, a strange expression flitting across her face. When she speaks next, her words still roll with the same cadence and volume, but Slate can’t help but feel that there’s something missing in her tone; some of the warmth behind her eyes has waned. 

“Is there anything I can eat that you can’t?” 

Grateful for the change in topic, Slate takes a moment to consider. “Not really. I think some red dragons can’t eat ice. But otherwise, we’re pretty good at digesting things, even if they’re not particularly nutritious.” 

“What do you like to eat?” 

Slate bites back a smile. He enjoys Adalyn’s curiosity. Her willingness to learn, and to hear him talk about the things she likes. She never makes it seem like he’s being boring. Even if there’s the occasional moment when he wonders if her mind is elsewhere, or she’s veiling some display of emotion. 

“I like all kinds of foods. One of the benefits of living so long and so richly is that I can travel around and try different things. I adore coffee. Though that might be because it’s mildly addictive. I like fish when it’s simple and game when it’s extravagant. I’m not very experienced at cooking many of these things, but I like different spice blends from Shad and the different grains they cook with. I like fruit and berry pastries. Cocoa from the Isles. I prefer my eggs cooked through, and I like the texture of toast when it’s a bit too crispy. But mostly I like variety. Being surprised by my food, or changing things up occasionally.” 

He reigns it in when Adalyn stares. There’s an indecipherable look on her face once more, and he pauses, suddenly self-conscious.  

“I’m not boring you, am I?” 

Her look softens. “I asked.”  

Slate drops his eyes. Suddenly overcome with the urge to reach out and touch her, to cup her face, to lean in and taste her breath; he schools his features into neutrality before pulling out another practiced smile. She’s just being friendly. Polite. 

“Lunch was wonderful. Thank you, Adalyn.”  

She smiles back, soft, but with that shadow of emotion from earlier, the one he can’t quite place.  

It’s enough that he finally frowns. Reaches out and touches her hand. “Is something wrong?” 

She hesitates, and he waits, giving her the time she needs to find her words. She seems to be thinking hard, conflicted. Eventually she lifts her eyes to his. Bites on her lip.  

“It’s silly.” 

“I won’t laugh.” 

She looks away again. “Will you... show me how to take apart and clean your armour tomorrow?” 

He tries not to frown. He has to wonder if she’d changed her mind about what she was going to say. Why look so torn over such a simple request? 

“Of course. Is that all?” 

She struggles to meet his gaze again. Shrugs. “Yes. I just... I like spending time with you.” 

Something in his chest warms. His face too.  

“I like spending time with you too, dearest.” 

She rolls her eyes at the endearment, but the tension is barely diffused. She still looks uncomfortable. 

He’s not sure what to say to make it better. Instead waits, hoping that she’ll break the silence. 

After a while, she does. “I’m just- worried.” 

He tilts his head.  

She shrugs again, trying to downplay the moment. “When you finish the Spire and I move out, what if I don’t get to spend any more time with you?” 

He blinks. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him. At least, not as something to worry about. He’d been toiling away in the keep, eager to gift Adalyn with her own space and not considering how she might feel about it. Does she want her own quarters? Will she like living by herself? He hadn’t even thought to ask. 

Looking at her now, vulnerable, hardly able to meet his eye, the previous warmth in his chest dissipates, and fractures. He’d messed up.  

He flounders for the right words to fix his mistake. To reassure Adalyn, and make that doleful expression go away. 

“I- uh. Of course you’ll spend time with me. You have a knack for tracking me down. And I really enjoy our lunches together.” 

Her expression barely changes. She just nods, and looks away, before making to stand. 

Slate winces and grabs her hand. Stands with her. Blurts the first thought to pop into his head. “I could build a bridge? One from the tower to your Spire? That way you can visit me whenever, and won’t even have to walk the whole keep.” 

Her face is blank for a moment. Then he watches as she goes through the effort tilting up the edges of her lips. Summons a spark to her eyes. “Sounds difficult.”  

He agrees. “A secret tunnel would probably be easier.”  

The smile twitches. “Probably more romantic too.” 

He blinks again. Latches onto that train of thought with clawed hands. “Do you like romance?” 

She looks away. “I don’t know. I haven’t really tried it.” 

There’s a precipice in front of him. A vulnerability he’d yet to show Adalyn. Yet to show anyone really. And while he hesitates to step over it, looking at the cracks in his wife’s composure, and their linked hands, his decision to speak is easily made. 

“Neither have I.” 

She turns to regard him, face still mostly blank. “You... haven’t?” 

“Nope.” 

He watches her weigh her words. Shift her weight. Consider the implications.  

“I see.” 

Adalyn no longer looks quite so melancholy, and it’s a balm on his nerves. But now that the desperate grab for reassurances and comforts is done, he shifts uncomfortably. The silence grates on him, and he wonders what next he should say. 

Adalyn saves him the trouble when she floors him with her next question. 

“Would you like to? 

Slate blinks. Looks sharply at the woman only to find her staring at her feet again, arms wrapped around herself. 

“Uh,” his heart is beating too hard, “I hadn’t considered it.” There’s another tense silence. “Would you?” 

Despite asking the first question, Adalyn still has the gall to look surprised. She meets his stare, eyes wide for a moment, before looking away. She packs the picnic blanket. Puts their dishes away, slowly, while she deliberates on her answer.  

Finally when she stands, she holds her basket in hand, almost as if she’s ready to flee at a moment’s notice. She makes herself meet Slate’s eyes. Composes her expression into one of neutrality again. 

“Yes. I think I would.” 

His mind blanks.  

He doesn’t have it in him to consider the implication of her words while she still stands before him. To consider the surge of... something... in his chest. To get a grip on his emotions and form a coherent response.  

But she stands there, waiting for him to reply.  

In his panic, he settles on an abrupt change in topic. “Tomorrow then, I’ll show you the armour.” He smiles. Starts backing away, before giving a little wave and turning. His steps back towards the Spire aren’t measured. He practically flees the scene, head reeling.  

When he’s out of sight he pauses to lean against the wall and lets himself just marinate in the mix of adrenaline and surprise.  

He can hear her still, lingering in the main-way. After a moment he listens to her footsteps fade into the distance, and he lets himself breathe again. 

Adalyn wants romance.  

Even thinking the words surprises him. Makes him haunted and hopeful. She might be open to advances. She might want somebody else. She might have been speaking on an entirely hypothetical level. And because he ran like a coward he’ll never know, unless he can muster up the nerve to pry further. 

Slate abandons the central column and starts working on one of the outer walls. They still need to be taken out, and there’s not many mistakes he can make while doing that. He resummons his claws, still in a daze, and resumes his work, though not grounded in the slightest. 

With enough monotony of motion he’s able to push the emotions down and focus on his work. Thought’s still swirl but he’s able to get lost in it, until he is sore and stiff and thirsty. He goes to take a drink and finds his skin empty. He lets out a long breath as the echoes of his labour fade away. It has probably been a while, and he resolves to take a break. To head to the main-way and refill his skin.  

When he makes it to the cavern, he catches sight of the sky and curses. The moon is high, and he bemoans how late it must be. Time just keeps getting away from him.  

He shifts and takes flight, making a direct beeline to the Tower. He lands on the balcony, trading his wings for his human form. 

He’d missed dinner again. Not only that, but Adalyn is already in bed, and her breath indicates that she’s sleeping deeply.  

Damn it.  

Grinding his teeth at his latest mistake, he fills the bathtub and sheds his clothes. When he’s no longer the colour of chalk or tasting grit in his mouth he dries and dresses, and empties the tub. 

Spying dinner on the table, he’s hit with a slew of emotions. Gratitude and adoration. Guilt and sadness. He needs to fix his timepiece. Or pull his head out of his ass and start making time for his wife. If he doesn’t, the next few decades are going to be incredibly stilted, and it would probably be his fault. 

Walking past his desk, he pauses when he sees Adalyn’s binder sitting open, a handful of papers poking out. He’s sure she didn’t have nearly as many when she first moved in and unpacked. Curious, he examines one. It almost looks like a blueprint. It’s a birds-eye-view of a room. Or perhaps not a room, judging by the lack of walls or doors. Those are... garden beds. Pots. Plant names. Has Adalyn been planning a garden? 

Unable to dampen his curiosity, he slides the other sheets into view. There’re recipes, to do lists, shopping lists, more blueprints. He skims the to do list, written in Adalyn’s tidy print: garden supplies, write Rin, meet with G&G, see jeweller. On the other side is another list, self explanatory: 20x small pots, 10x large pots, 5x crates soil, old garden cuttings, 1x load fertiliser, spade, watering can, water barrel... The list trails off, instead devolving into loose sketches of a rudimentary irrigation system. Slate is impressed.  

He puzzles over the next page. Adalyn had drafted a blueprint – two blueprints, of similar design. It’s not up to industry standard, but it’s legible. Slate doesn’t know what to make of the design. Apparently half of the building is to be hewn from the mountain, and a protruding half to be built from wood? He decides to ask about it later. 

He sits down for dinner, considering her plans and altering his own. Glass. Wardrobe. Rail. Timepiece. Pots. Soil. Fertilizer. His list is growing. The trip he’s been putting off is starting to look more and more needed, and Slate sighs, wondering if he should just get it over with. It could certainly be a pleasant surprise for Adalyn. 

When he finishes cleaning up for the night he hesitates at the foot of the bed. He should just go and lay down on the chaise. Sleep off the fatigue that is starting to cloud his mind.  

Instead, he finds himself laying down beside Adalyn and watching her for a moment. He almost immediately wishes he hadn’t as he sinks into the mattress and muffles a sigh. It’d be the only perk, giving Adalyn her own quarters. He’d missed sleeping in the bed.  

It seems kind of dumb to him. That humans reserve sex for the bedroom. It makes him self-conscious whenever he enters the space. Is he bothering Adalyn by being here? Is he pushing her boundaries too much? It’s not like she’d say much if he did. Fuck, she’d even offered to share the bed with him, that first night. He’d declined, if only to make sure she wasn’t rushing into things. And she hadn’t asked him back since.  

Adalyn rolls. Her back slots against Slate’s chest. Her head rests on his arm. Slate freezes. Scarcely breathing, he waits for her to wake. To jerk away. To do something. Anything.  

She doesn’t wake. As the minutes tick by, Slate relaxes fractionally. Lulled by her warmth and lured by her gentle breathing into lowering his guard, Slate lets his eyes close. Inhales deeply. 

Just a few more minutes. Then he’d leave. He’d go and sleep on the chaise. Would stop smelling her hair like a depraved pervert. Would pull away from her touch. 

Just a few more minutes. 

--- 

“Dearest Adalyn 

I need to pick up some supplies from Cheywyn. Unfortunately, I won’t return until tomorrow morning, if things go according to schedule. I’m saddened that I’ll be missing our midday meal, but look forward to returning to you. 

Fondest regards 

Slate” 

She’d woken from a pleasant dream this morning. Warmth against her back, and a hand entwined in her hair. Slate’s absence was not unusual. She’d stoked the fire, started breakfast, and had sat at the table, relaxed and looking forward to the day. Then she’d seen the note. 

Adalyn sips her tea on the balcony, eyes trained on the horizon. The letter is clenched in her fist.

Next

[hydropotato]

Warframe update: I hit the actual day 100 reward.

First of all, Hatsune Kou-Miku! With her signature weapons as leeks, of course. Koumei's super fun, and Shrine Defence is a blast with so many options on how to play it. Nuke them, CC them, it's all viable.

Also, I've gotta say, this game's a treat. Difficulty scaling is more about numbers and strategising to hit those numbers, but it is rewarding in its own way. That, and crowd control helps to sort out any lacking you may have in the numbers department. That said,

1 million damage on a whip that hits multiple foes! Ain't that something. I know people can hit even bigger numbers, but this was impressive to me. Khora isn't even my main.

As for my actual main, Citrine,

She's doing awesome. Perfect for survival missions, and a stellar option for defence missions (though I'll admit, for mirror defence I still go for Gara or Limbo). Infinite sustain and healing, instant defence reduction that I just need kills to keep active, a constant beam of my homosexuality onto unsuspecting foes, and rocks that make anything deal red crits. What more could a girl want?

I think I'll keep Tumblr as my diary for Warframe. I have many thoughts about this game, lots of silly little things I encountered that I'd love to share with you lot. Like today, I was farming for the arcanes on Tyana Pass and I encountered another Limbo!

My cataclysm was bigger than his, but didn't last as long. So, I'll salute him for that, and pretend I didn't just make what is most probably a phallic joke.

[scarletunit6]

REGIONAL SPECIALITIES

Despite recent setbacks beef is still big industry in England, and the Scottish Aberdeen Angus is one of our most famous beef-producing breeds. Dairy cattle are also farmed extensively -- England is famous for its creams and butters and for its sturdy and delicious cheeses: Stilton, Cheshire and its rare cousin blue Cheshire, double Gloucester, red Leicester, sage Derby, and of course cheddar.

Some of our more interesting dishes include:-

Beefsteak, Oyster, and Kidney Pudding: Oysters may seem unlikely in this meat pudding, but their great abundance in the Victorian age and earlier eras inspired cooks to find ways to incorporate them creatively in many different recipes. This steamed pudding combines the meats with mushrooms, onions, tomatoes, and Worcestershire, then wraps the whole in a suet pastry.

Black Pudding: invented in Stornoway, Isle of Lewis black pudding is often served as part of a traditional full English breakfast.

Black Pudding Recipe

Cock-a-Leekie : This Scottish specialty can be classified as a soup or a stew. It combines beef, chicken, leeks, and prunes to unusual and spectacular ends.

Crown Roast Lamb: The crown roast encircles a stuffing of apples, bread crumbs, onion, celery, and lemon.

Eccles Cake : Puff pastry stuffed with a spicy currant filling.

Hasty Pudding: A simple and quick (thus the name) steamed pudding of milk, flour, butter, eggs, and cinnamon.

Irish Stew: An Irish stew always has a common base of lamb, potatoes, and onion. It could contain any number of other ingredients, depending on the cook.

Likky Pie Leeks: pork, and cream baked in puff pastry.

Mincemeat: Beef suet is used to bind chopped nuts, apples, spices, brown sugar, and brandy into a filling for pies or pasties - not to be confused with minced meat!.

Mulligatawny Soup: What this soup is depends on who is cooking it. Originally a south Indian dish (the name means pepper water in tamil), it has been adopted and extensively adapted by the British. Mullitgatawny contains chicken or meat or vegetable stock mixed with yogurt or cheese or coconut milk and is seasoned with curry and various other spices. It is sometimes served with a separate bowl of rice.

Syllabub: In the seventeenth century, a milkmaid would send a stream of new, warm milk directly from a cow into a bowl of spiced cider or ale. A light curd would form on top with a lovely whey underneath. This, according to Elizabeth David, was the original syllabub. Today's syllabub is more solid (its origins can also be traced to the seventeenth century, albeit to the upper classes) and mixes sherry and/or brandy, sugar, lemon, nutmeg, and double cream into a custard-like dessert or an eggnog-like beverage, depending upon the cook.

Trifle: Layers of alcohol-soaked sponge cake alternate with fruit, custard and whipped cream, some people add jelly, but that's for kids.

Welsh Faggots: Pig's liver is made into meatballs with onion, beef suet, bread crumbs, and sometimes a chopped apple. Faggots used to be made to use up the odd parts of a pig after it had been slaughtered.

Welsh Rabbit (or Rarebit): Cheese is grated and melted with milk or ale. Pepper, salt, butter, and mustard are then added. The mix is spread over toast and baked until "the cheese bubbles and becomes brown in appetizing-looking splashes" (Jane Grigson in English Food, London: Penguin, 1977).

Westmoreland Pepper Cake: Fruitcake that gets a distinctive kick from lots of black pepper. Other ingredients include honey, cloves, ginger, and walnuts.

Hand, L.R. (2019). British Food - British culture, customs and traditions. [online] Learnenglish.de. Available at: https://www.learnenglish.de/culture/foodculture.html. ‌

[dansnaturepictures]

Round up of my wild week 25th March-1st April 2023

It’s been a great week of watching birds as we go into spring, with my first Wheatears of the year at Farlington Marshes last Saturday, my first Sand Martins of the year at Blashford Lakes last Sunday followed by my earliest ever sighting of House Martins in a year at Lakeside Country Park on Tuesday. A very pleasing sighting of a neat and exciting Water Pipit at Farlington Marshes was another key part of a good run of year ticks to take my year list to 160 on my earliest ever date, my year list still way ahead of where I was on these dates in previous years. Immersive Brent Geese sightings, brief and stunning Short-eared Owl view, Marsh Harrier and notable Mediterranean Gull a bird I am on a good run for and Avocet numbers at Farlington Marshes, Great Spotted Woodpecker, Scaup, Goldeneye and Siskin at Blashford Lakes, Tufted Duck, Chiffchaff, Great Tit, Green Woodpecker, Great Crested Grebes, Buzzard and Red Kite at Lakeside across the week, Lesser Black-backed Gulls on the green out the front on Friday and Buzzard, Sparrowhawk, Grey Wagtail, Blackbird in a nice period of seeing them I’m having and Mute Swan in Winchester were other highlights this week. 

Mallard at Lakeside on Tuesday, I got a lot of close views of them this week. 

Grey Wagtail by the River Itchen in Winchester on Thursday, the key bird of the lunch breaks of my Winchester part of the working week. 

It has been nice to enjoy winter wildfowl around alongside the spring birds starting to arrive, something I love at coastal marshy sites this time of year and this Shoveler was one of a pair I thoroughly enjoyed seeing at Farlington. 

As I said in yesterday evening’s post, yesterday we had a fantastic time at Hampshire Ornithological Society (HOS)’s AGM and Member’s Day, it was so good to hear about the varied and important work of HOS, with engrossing talks from inspiring speakers David Lindo, James Aldred, Beccy Speight, Juliet Vickery and John Clark on a range of topics. It was great to hear all of their passion first hand and hearing the amazing work of their organisations the RSPB and BTO from Beccy and Juliet was interesting, honest and reassuring. It was good to meet/see some familiar faces too, and we even saw a Red Kite flying over the field at the school that hosted the day with Black-headed and Herring Gulls seen too. A really feel good, enjoyable and informative day.

This week has been a massive one in my flower year, with many important moments seeing my first or one of my first of the species this year for species like Alexander’s, marsh marigold, cow parsley, herb-Robert, ivy-leaved toadflax, bluebell, and three-cornered leek. It has been an amazing week for seeing snake’s-head fritillaries and cowslips with so many of these vibrant springtime beauties seen, and loads of red deadnettle, speedwell, spurge, snowflakes, violets, lesser celandine and some wild daffodils at Blashford Lakes were other particular standouts. Blackthorn and other blossom, buds and green leaves in the landscape, and flowers like tulips at home coming out have added to the colourful awakening mood of the week with a few insects seen again. In a fairly wet week - the rain feels like something we could be thankful for later on though if we have another summer like last year’s - this all made me feel so uplifted and springlike. It was good to see turkey tail and scarlet elf cup fungi - which I’ve had great winters for - at Blashford Lakes. 

Three-cornered leek at Lakeside on Friday evening.

View at Lakeside on what has been a moody week for sky scenes in places.

Beautiful blossom in Winchester on Thursday. 

I have enjoyed doing these round up posts at the weekend the last month and a bit, and just thought I would say because of a very exciting trip we have coming up from Friday onwards which I will mention in due course I don’t think I’ll be doing a post like this which covers today-Thursday, but as ever my daily posts this week will have key points/sightings.

[tiand]

Today's Word With Joel and Victoria Osteen - What Are You Seeing?

Today’s Scripture We remember the fish we ate in Egypt at no cost—also the cucumbers, melons, leeks, onions and garlic. But now we have lost our appetite; we never see anything but this manna!” Numbers 11:5–6, NIV Today’s Word When God brought the Israelites out of slavery in Egypt, He led them on a journey through the wilderness to the Promised Land. There were no stores or water towers, yet…

[poetka]

Day 2 of having a very good day for no reason... should I be scared?

Had a pretty similar workday compared to yesterday, worked on my thesis the whole day (finished polishing the introduction according to the feedback I got and updated some diagrams). Notably my team took a full hour for breakfast which is kinda crazy but okay 🤷‍♀️ (The new oats I bought taste kinda weird btw. I wish I'd gone to a Polish store and bought some good ones or maybe płatki orkiszowe or żytnie.) I went home late anyway because I wanted to finish numbering the references for the intro. Had that ⅔ of a burger and the few fries that were left for lunch plus a tasty albeit not the freshest salad. Also rediscovered that some articles in Polityka have audio recording versions so listened to those while having mindless moments at work.

Right after coming home made a nice Asian fusion (?) soup from leftover veggies. Added ginger, chillies, soy sauce and oyster sauce along with carrots, leek, cabbage, onion, garlic, regular herbs and spices, and when the broth was ready, took out everything and added some peanut butter and leftover coconut milk. Got too hungry to wait so I ate a hummus + radish sandwich. Fried an omelette and also fried the carrots and cabbage from the broth with some soy sauce to add to the soup when serving. Cooked three types of noodles: egg, rice, and wheat. All this while catching up on some chill youtube vlogs/commentary. Then I realised it was already 7pm and I had spent the last 2 hours in the kitchen.

Went upstairs to finish downloading the last few episodes of CQL that had an error before. Realised the last 6 eps downloaded without subs and redownloaded them. The laptop was working really slowly so cleaned it up a bit afterwards.

Had a nice 25 mins of pilates / stretching which made me feel really relaxed - need to this every day forrrreal. Took a shower but decided to skip washing my hair and just hoped for the best when applying dry shampoo.

Anyway the thing is, what I really mean (🎶👩‍🎤) is that I feel a bit guilty about my day going so smoothly when I know my friend who is in a similar situation but worse (barely started the thesis) is having a bad day every day. I don't want to say that I'm doing well so I'm just not mentioning that at all and looking for things that I can complain about too. But then am I making it about myself if they just want a listener? It's a nightmare. But my day was still really good even though the weather was bad today and I can't explain this mood with yesterday's lovely weather. Honestly haven't felt this way in like. I can't even remember when was the last time? And I'm overall in probably the most stressful moment of my life?? I'm kinda scared that flying this high will end up in a bad crash.

[roman-catholic-mass-readings]

7th August >> Mass Readings (USA)

Monday, Eighteenth Week in Ordinary Time 

or

Saints Sixtus II, Pope, and his Companions, Martyrs

  or

Saint Cajetan, Priest. 

Monday, Eighteenth Week in Ordinary Time

(Liturgical Colour: Green: A (1))

First Reading Numbers 11:4b-15 I cannot carry all this people by myself.

The children of Israel lamented, “Would that we had meat for food! We remember the fish we used to eat without cost in Egypt, and the cucumbers, the melons, the leeks, the onions, and the garlic. But now we are famished; we see nothing before us but this manna.” Manna was like coriander seed and had the color of resin. When they had gone about and gathered it up, the people would grind it between millstones or pound it in a mortar, then cook it in a pot and make it into loaves, which tasted like cakes made with oil. At night, when the dew fell upon the camp, the manna also fell.

When Moses heard the people, family after family, crying at the entrance of their tents, so that the LORD became very angry, he was grieved. “Why do you treat your servant so badly?” Moses asked the LORD. “Why are you so displeased with me that you burden me with all this people? Was it I who conceived all this people? Or was it I who gave them birth, that you tell me to carry them at my bosom, like a foster father carrying an infant, to the land you have promised under oath to their fathers? Where can I get meat to give to all this people? For they are crying to me, ‘Give us meat for our food.’ I cannot carry all this people by myself, for they are too heavy for me. If this is the way you will deal with me, then please do me the favor of killing me at once, so that I need no longer face this distress.”

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 81:12-13, 14-15, 16-17

R/ Sing with joy to God our help.

“My people heard not my voice, and Israel obeyed me not; So I gave them up to the hardness of their hearts; they walked according to their own counsels.”

R/ Sing with joy to God our help.

“If only my people would hear me, and Israel walk in my ways, Quickly would I humble their enemies; against their foes I would turn my hand.”

R/ Sing with joy to God our help.

“Those who hated the LORD would seek to flatter me, but their fate would endure forever, While Israel I would feed with the best of wheat, and with honey from the rock I would fill them.”

R/ Sing with joy to God our help.

Gospel Acclamation Matthew 4:4

Alleluia, alleluia. One does not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes forth from the mouth of God. Alleluia, alleluia.

Gospel Matthew 14:13-21

When Jesus heard of the death of John the Baptist, he withdrew in a boat to a deserted place by himself. The crowds heard of this and followed him on foot from their towns. When he disembarked and saw the vast crowd, his heart was moved with pity for them, and he cured their sick. When it was evening, the disciples approached him and said, “This is a deserted place and it is already late; dismiss the crowds so that they can go to the villages and buy food for themselves.” He said to them, “There is no need for them to go away; give them some food yourselves.” But they said to him, “Five loaves and two fish are all we have here.” Then he said, “Bring them here to me,” and he ordered the crowds to sit down on the grass. Taking the five loaves and the two fish, and looking up to heaven, he said the blessing, broke the loaves, and gave them to the disciples, who in turn gave them to the crowds. They all ate and were satisfied, and they picked up the fragments left over– twelve wicker baskets full. Those who ate were about five thousand men, not counting women and children.

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

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

Saints Sixtus II, Pope, and his Companions, Martyrs 

(Liturgical Colour: Red: A (1))

(Readings for the memorial)

(There is a choice today between the readings for the ferial day (Monday) and those for the memorial. The ferial readings are recommended unless pastoral reasons suggest otherwise)

First Reading Wisdom 3:1-9 As sacrificial offerings he took them to himself.

The souls of the just are in the hand of God, and no torment shall touch them. They seemed, in the view of the foolish, to be dead; and their passing away was thought an affliction and their going forth from us, utter destruction. But they are in peace. For if before men, indeed, they be punished, yet is their hope full of immortality; Chastised a little, they shall be greatly blessed, because God tried them and found them worthy of himself. As gold in the furnace, he proved them, and as sacrificial offerings he took them to himself. In the time of their visitation they shall shine, and shall dart about as sparks through stubble; They shall judge nations and rule over peoples, and the LORD shall be their King forever. Those who trust in him shall understand truth, and the faithful shall abide with him in love: Because grace and mercy are with his holy ones, and his care is with his elect.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 126:1bc-2ab, 2cd-3, 4-5, 6

R/ Those who sow in tears shall reap rejoicing.

When the LORD brought back the captives of Zion, we were like men dreaming. Then our mouth was filled with laughter, and our tongue with rejoicing.

R/ Those who sow in tears shall reap rejoicing.

Then they said among the nations, “The LORD has done great things for them.” The LORD has done great things for us; we are glad indeed.

R/ Those who sow in tears shall reap rejoicing.

Restore our fortunes, O LORD, like the torrents in the southern desert. Those who sow in tears shall reap rejoicing.

R/ Those who sow in tears shall reap rejoicing.

Although they go forth weeping, carrying the seed to be sown, They shall come back rejoicing, carrying their sheaves.

R/ Those who sow in tears shall reap rejoicing.

Gospel Acclamation James 1:12

Alleluia, alleluia. Blessed is the man who perseveres in temptation, for when he has been proved he will receive the crown of life. Alleluia, alleluia.

Gospel Matthew 10:28-33 Do not be afraid of those who kill the body.

Jesus said to his Apostles: “Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul; rather, be afraid of the one who can destroy both soul and body in Gehenna. Are not two sparrows sold for a small coin? Yet not one of them falls to the ground without your Father’s knowledge. Even all the hairs of your head are counted. So do not be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows. Everyone who acknowledges me before others I will acknowledge before my heavenly Father. But whoever denies me before others, I will deny before my heavenly Father.”

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

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

Saint Cajetan, Priest 

(Liturgical Colour: White: A (1))

(Readings for the memorial)

(There is a choice today between the readings for the ferial day (Monday) and those for the memorial. The ferial readings are recommended unless pastoral reasons suggest otherwise)

First Reading Sirach 2:7-11 You who fear the Lord, believe in him, hope in him, love him.

You who fear the LORD, wait for his mercy, turn not away lest you fall. You who fear the LORD, trust him, and your reward will not be lost. You who fear the LORD, hope for good things, for lasting joy and mercy. You who fear the Lord, love him and your hearts will be enlightened. Study the generations long past and understand; has anyone hoped in the LORD and been disappointed? Has anyone persevered in his commandments and been forsaken? Has anyone called upon him and been rebuffed? Compassionate and merciful is the LORD; he forgives sins, he saves in time of trouble and he is a protector to all who seek him in truth.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 112:1-2, 3-4, 5-6, 7-8, 9

R/ Blessed the man who fears the Lord. or R/ Alleluia.

Blessed the man who fears the LORD, who greatly delights in his commands. His posterity shall be mighty upon the earth; the upright generation shall be blessed.

R/ Blessed the man who fears the Lord. or R/ Alleluia.

Wealth and riches shall be in his house; his generosity shall endure forever. Light shines through the darkness for the upright; he is gracious and merciful and just.

R/ Blessed the man who fears the Lord. or R/ Alleluia.

Well for the man who is gracious and lends, who conducts his affairs with justice; He shall never be moved; the just one shall be in everlasting remembrance.

R/ Blessed the man who fears the Lord. or R/ Alleluia.

An evil report he shall not fear. His heart is firm, trusting in the LORD. His heart is steadfast; he shall not fear till he looks down upon his foes.

R/ Blessed the man who fears the Lord. or R/ Alleluia.

Lavishly he gives to the poor, his generosity shall endure forever; his horn shall be exalted in glory.

R/ Blessed the man who fears the Lord. or R/ Alleluia.

Gospel Acclamation Matthew 5:3

Alleluia, alleluia. Blessed are the poor in spirit; for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven. Alleluia, alleluia.

Gospel Luke 12:32-34 Your Father is pleased to give you the Kingdom.

Jesus said to his disciples: “Do not be afraid any longer, little flock, for your Father is pleased to give you the Kingdom. Sell your belongings and give alms. Provide money bags for yourselves that do not wear out, an inexhaustible treasure in heaven that no thief can reach nor moth destroy. For where your treasure is, there also will your heart be.”

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

[sophieakatz]

Thursday Thoughts: Facing the Wilderness

I wrote this d’var Torah for last Friday night’s Shabbat services.

This week, in the Torah, we read parshat Behaalotecha, which includes a line that has always made me raise my eyebrows, but today, I find it resonates with me in a new way.

We find it in Numbers Chapter 11 verses 4 through 6: “…the children of Israel once again began to cry, and they said, “Who will feed us meat? We remember the fish that we ate in Egypt free of charge, the cucumbers, the watermelons, the leeks, the onions, and the garlic. But now, our bodies are dried out, for there is nothing at all; we have nothing but manna to look at.”

We remember the fish that we ate in Egypt free of charge…

It sounds like the Children of Israel are being nostalgic for their time in Egypt. But let’s review for a moment. Answer me this: when the Children of Israel were in Egypt, what status did they have?

They were slaves! Their meals were free of charge BECAUSE THEY WERE SLAVES. They paid for that fish and cucumbers and garlic with back-breaking labor and suffering, with the murder of their infants, with a complete lack of freedom or opportunity for the future.

And now, they are free – but the children of Israel have realized that freedom comes with its own challenges. Freedom means not always knowing when you’re going to eat, or what you’re going to eat. More broadly, freedom means that you can’t always predict what’s going to happen. We call this book of Torah the book of Numbers, but in Hebrew, this is Bamidbar, which means, “in the wilderness.” And when you’re in the wilderness, when you venture into the unknown (like Elsa in Frozen 2), things are new, and strange, and uncertain.

When I was a kid, I couldn’t understand this behavior from the children of Israel. How could they be so ungrateful for their freedom? How could they look at manna, this food that came directly from G-d, and long for the food that had come from their oppressors?

But now I think I understand. Because when we face new challenges, when we feel uncertain about the future, it becomes very easy to look back on old, familiar situations with nostalgia. It becomes easy to put on the rose-colored glasses and think, “Things were so much better when I knew what was coming.”

People do this all the time. We all know someone, we all have that friend, who is in a really bad relationship. And they KNOW that it’s bad. They tell you all the time about the ways that their partner is making their life miserable. But every time your friend starts to think, “I should break up with this person!” – they freeze! Because if they break up with their partner, they’ll have to face the challenges of the modern-day dating scene. The dating apps. The pressure from friends and family. The fear of rejection, and the uncertainty that they’ll even find someone to connect with at all. So instead, your friend starts to justify their old relationship. They say things like, “Maybe I should give him another chance! Sure, he’s not the BEST guy, but at least I know he wants me! At least I know what to expect!”

The Children of Israel, to put it very mildly, were in a VERY bad relationship with Egypt. But faced with the uncertainty of the wilderness, they find themselves longing for the certainty of that bad situation.

A month from now – in fact, exactly thirty days from now, yes I’m keeping a countdown – I will be starting a new job. The thing is, I already have a job. I’ve worked at the same attraction at Walt Disney World for a year now, and I just reached my five-year anniversary as an attractions Cast Member overall. Five years is plenty of time to get comfortable. I know what to expect from working in attractions.

But I don’t want to be an attractions Cast Member forever. I don’t talk about this much, because I don’t enjoy being negative, but there are a lot of things about working at theme park attractions that make it not a good fit for me. And as most of you know, I’m a creative writer. That’s where I flourish. That’s where I find a sense of purpose. I’m about to become a seasonal show writer with Disney Live Entertainment. And while I am beyond excited for this opportunity, the term “seasonal” means that I don’t know how often they will have work for me to do. So in thirty days, I will leap into the unknown. Into the wilderness of being a freelance professional writer.

And I have already panicked about this. I panicked when I first saw the job posting, and again after I submitted my application, and again both before and after I interviewed for the job. And I expect that I will panic about it again, or at least be anxious about it, more than once in the next thirty days. I now find myself thinking very happily about my attractions job. Now that I’m about to leave, it’s a lot easier to think about how nice and stable this work is. How good it is that I know what to expect.

The Children of Israel knew in Egypt that they would be fed fish. The fish was familiar and certain, and so was slavery. Manna, and freedom, are new and strange. But manna is also a sign that their life is better now. Their life now is different, and challenging, and sometimes frightening, but it is full of new opportunities.

So when we find ourselves facing the wilderness that lies on the other side of a change, the answer is not to look longingly back on the familiar ground behind us. It’s to look forward, and to step forward, into the wilderness, to confront its challenges and seize its opportunities, and to build a life that will be better than the one we left behind.

Shabbat shalom!

[ilikereadingactually]

Light From Uncommon Stars

Light From Uncommon Stars by Ryka Aoki

don't be fooled by the semi-pretty photo i set up. i did finish reading this book today while curled up in bed, but first i ate those two pastries (leek and parmesan and a chocolate croissant, YUMMMMM) and then i played phone games for half an hour and then i opened the book. even an afternoon i have dedicated to reading involves frequent snacks and phone games. right now it's all Chain Cube, all the time. i will probably play some more of it in the middle of writing this post.

i'm having a hard time formulating my thoughts about this book. i enjoyed it! i read it in two big chunks, with about a week in between. the end made me cry, because people loving each other always make me cry. it felt a little bit like watching an anime that had gotten ahead of its manga and started going rogue, just putting together all kinds of wild things, and at the same time it felt like watching an anime that tried to tell a big story in a modest number of episodes, and i don't mean either of those things as a negative.

i think what i mean is that this book was super straightforward in a way i'm not used to, but also very unexpected! it's not a spoiler to say that there's a demon from hell, like real bargain-making demon, and also space aliens, and several revelations about each of these elements happen with extremely swift acceptance by the characters. and i was sitting there thinking "where's the disbelief, the need for proof, the miscommunications and misunderstandings, the shock?" and then realized that i don't actually love all that stuff, i just expected it to be there. it's pretty nice for queer women on a first date to just get back to being on a first date, and a sweet trans girl to get back to playing the violin! it's a lot more telling than showing, which is not usually my personal fave, but the telling is charming, the characters are charming, the whole thing is quirky and odd and loving and immensely satisfying in its ending.

the deets

how i read it: as you can see, i read the physical paperback, which i picked up a while ago at the bookstore near my laundromat. it was a pretty recent addition to the tbr pile on the side of my bed, hadn't even collected any dust yet!

a line i really liked: "Tomorrow is tomorrow. Over there is over there. And here and now is not a bad place and time to be, especially when so much of the unknown is beautiful."

try this if you: are prepared to get hungry reading about food a lot, dig a neighborhoody Los Angeles setting, have feelings about the expressive power of music, or like a little bit of camp (think Star Trek TOS level).

maybe not for you if: you need to avoid depictions of transphobia/past abuse and descriptions of dysphoria.

[reasoningdaily]

Caption

According to early 19th century writer U.P. Hendrick, the Ansault pear was a fruit "of the highest quality." We’ll have to take his word for it; the pear is believed to have disappeared shortly after those words were published. It’s one of the many fruits, vegetables, and meats that will never be tasted again. Whether they were eaten to extinction or succumbed to other factors, these are the foods from history you can no longer eat.

1. Ansault pear

Unlike other items on this list, the Ansault pear appeared relatively recently. First cultivated in Angers, France, in 1863, the fruit was prized for its delectable flesh. In the 1917 book The Pears of New York, Hendrick wrote, “the flesh is notable, and is described by the word buttery, so common in pear parlance, rather better than any other pear. The rich sweet flavor, and distinct but delicate perfume contribute to make the fruits of highest quality.”

Irregular trees and the rise of commercial farming contributed to the fruit's demise. Ansault pear trees were impractical to grow in large orchards, and commercial farmers weren’t interested in wasting time on temperamental strains when other pear varieties were available to them. Nurseries stopped growing the pear and it disappeared in the early 20th century.

2. Passenger pigeon

Illustration of passenger pigeon by John Henry Hintermeister from 1908. / Wikimedia Commons

Humans feasted on the passenger pigeon for centuries. It was such a vital food source for the Seneca people that they named it jah’gowa, or “big bread.” Sadly, the North American bird was too tasty for its own good. Hunting, combined with habitat and food loss, reduced their numbers from up to 3 billion in the early 1800s to just one by 1900. That endling, a captive pigeon named Martha after America’s first First Lady, died at the Cincinatti Zoo in Ohio 1914.

3. Auroch

You may have heard aurochs mentioned in Game of Thrones, but this creature doesn’t belong in the same category as dragons. The real cattle species was domesticated 10,000 years ago in the early days of agriculture. They were big (“little below the elephant in size,” according to Julius Casear) and leaner than modern cows. After suffering from disease and habitat loss, the species dwindled until the last aurochs died in a Polish forest in the 17th century. New breeding efforts are aiming to revive the species—or at least produce a new animal that comes close. The beef from one aurochs-like cow bred in the modern era is reportedly juicy and tender with a “wild” taste.

4. Silphium

Coin depicting Silphium plant, circa 480 to 435 BCE. / Heritage Images/Getty Images

The ancient Greeks and Romans had many applications for this leek-flavored herb. Its stalks were cooked and eaten like a vegetable, while its sap was dried and grated over various dishes as seasoning. It had medicinal uses as well; it was apparently an effective form of birth control, and its heart-shaped seeds may be why we associate the shape with love today. Silphium only grew on a 125-by-35-mile strip of land in modern Libya, and it couldn't be farmed; demand for the precious herb quickly outpaced its natural supply. Pliny the Elder wrote that only one silphium plant was discovered during his lifetime, and it was gifted to the Roman emperor Nero sometime between 54 CE and 68 CE.

5. Dodo

Dutch sailors first visited the island chain of Mauritius in 1598, and less than two centuries later the archipelago's native dodo went extinct. Sailors relied on the birds as sustenance during long voyages at sea, but that isn't the primary reason they died out; habitat and the introduction of invasive species like rats and pigs ultimately wiped out the animal. Though humans did eat dodo meat, it was more for survival than taste. The last person to spot a dodo, an English sailor named Benjamin Harry, called its flesh "very hard." The Dutch word for dodo was walghvodel, or “disgusting bird."

6. Steller’s sea cow

Illustration of Steller's sea cow, circa 1896. / Biospanersity Heritage Library, Wikimedia Commons // CC BY 2.0

German naturalist Georg Wilhelm Steller identified the Steller's sea cow around the Commander Islands in the Bering Sea in 1741. Growing up to 30 feet long, it was significantly larger than the sea cows alive today. It was also pretty tasty. The salty meat was compared to corned beef, and the fat apparently tasted like almond oil. Sailors reportedly sipped the liquified blubber out of cups. Steller’s sea cows were a source of leather and lamp oil as well as meat, and the animal was hunted to extinction by 1768—less than 30 years after it was first described.

7. Mammoth

Wooly mammoth meat was an important component of the diets of our earliest human ancestors. We ate so much of them that hunting may have contributed to their extinction around 2000 BCE (though climate change was likely a bigger factor). Despite being extinct for thousands of years, several modern scientists and explorers have claimed they’ve tasted mammoth flesh. Because mammoth specimens are often found perfectly preserved in the frigid Arctic, they could technically be thawed and consumed. Unfortunately this doesn’t give us much insight into how the game tasted tens of thousands of years ago: Meat that’s been frozen for that long turns into rancid goo when defrosted. Bon appétit.

8. Taliaferro apple

Thomas Jefferson cultivated Taliaferro apples at Monticello. In an 1814 letter to his granddaughter, Jefferson said the small fruit produced "unquestionably the finest cyder we have ever known, and more like wine than any liquor I have ever tasted which was not wine." Though it’s believed that the apple was lost with the estate’s original orchard, some horticulturists still hold out hope for its survival—but with few written descriptions of the fruit available, we likely wouldn’t be able to identify Jefferson’s apple even if we did find it.

9. Great auk

Illustration of great auks from "Birds of America," circa 1827 to 1838. / Wikimedia Commons

Modern humans primarily killed great auks for their down, leading to the species’s extinction in the mid-19th century, but prior to that they were hunted for dinner. Fossil evidence indicates that Neanderthals were cooking the flightless birds over campfires as far back as 100,000 years ago. The Beothuk people of what is now Newfoundland, Canada, used great auk eggs to make pudding.

10. Ancient bison

Before the American bison was nearly hunted to extinction in the 19th century, Bison antiquus, or the ancient bison, died out 10,000 years ago. Bones have been recovered showing evidence of butchering with tools. This suggests that Native Americans relied on the ancient bison for food as they did with its modern ancestors.

11. Old Cornish Cauliflower

Old Cornish cauliflower wasn't famous for its taste, but it did have one advantage over other varieties. The vegetable was resistant to a destructive plant virus called ringspot. In the 1940s, European growers began replacing Old Cornish cauliflower with a French variety that shipped better, and it was extinct by the 1950s. As a result, ringspot has decimated cauliflower crops in certain regions of Britain.

[yhwhrulz]

Wayside Chapel Daily Devotional 2nd March 2023

Morning March 2

Numbers 11:4-6 4The rabble with them began to crave other food, and again the Israelites started wailing and said, "If only we had meat to eat! 5We remember the fish we ate in Egypt at no cost–also the cucumbers, melons, leeks, onions and garlic. 6But now we have lost our appetite; we never see anything but this manna!"

They started wailing again. It's easy to join a pity party. The rabble and troublemakers are always among us. They point people toward the temporal and not to Jesus, the eternal. They point to the things that you do not currently possess and not to the blessings at hand. They crave the things of the world and not the things of God.

Did the manna cost? Here they were with miraculous provision and they were whining for something more exotic. It would be hard to have the same meal day after day, and a miracle loses its awe to us when we see it daily. How we remember the good but not the bad! Their babies were fed to the crocs and their backs to the whips, but they want to go back for a nice dinner.

The real problem is that they are not hungry for God. Jesus said that He is the manna that comes down from heaven. They are tired of focusing on one thing. They'd like a little worldly diversion. It shows they had not grown spiritually, and though they were out of Egypt, Egypt was not out of them. Watch out for the allurement of the world. It promises its delicacies but neglects to tell you of the price you will pay for them or how short lived the satisfaction. The Promised Land has plenty to satisfy, but you must be prepared by learning to put first things first. Which will it be for you, forward, or backward?

Prayer: Lord, keep my heart satisfied with You, the true bread from heaven.

[saecookie]

Listen love languages are my languages and there's nothing I love more than to cook for someone.

Basically I want to cook for yall.