text:
Anderson Cooper: Both twin and zombie

Note to readers: See the post The Steve Clark Blunder. This post was a cluster of errors.

I am going to blame this on jet lag, as I do have  a bad case, but it is just an excuse, as I did make a mistake in the original version of this post – I used a 2016 photo of Def Leppard rather than one that included Steve Clark, which is now used. Comments below refer to the original photo. They were accurate.

A week or so ago I inserted the above photo of Def Leppard in with the mix of photos taken in Europe, and asked readers who Staight’s latest discovery, his latest Zombie was. Where I could, I emailed the answer to people expressing interest, as I don’t like teasing people. For all of us now, the answer is that the guy in the middle above, who is holding a microphone in a creepily suggestive way second from the right, is Steve Clark, who died of alcoholism in 1991.

He is now known as Anderson Cooper, intrepid CNN news reporter.

If you are curious what a pool of talent exists that one man can be both a world-class lead guitarist and stage performer and a newsman, the answer is easy. Cooper may have done some excellent air guitar work on stage.  What we have discovered about Zombies, people who fake-die as musicians and then return as news personalities, is that they are actors, not musicians. The whole of a recording performance can be faked, and stage performances too.

Straight and I have learned now too when doing facial comparisons to first answer the question: Are we dealing with twins?

In Cooper’s case, yes. Most assuredly, Anderson Cooper is twins.

Her is twin #1, whom I think of as Anderson the Serious:

And here is Twin #2, who I think of as Fredo, the slightly less credible Cooper:

cooper-on-jeopardyAs I have discovered, if he is wearing horn-rimmed glasses, it is Fredo. Also, Fredo has an easy smile, sometimes even looking a little intellectually challenged, the reason for my nickname.

(Jeopardy, the TV Quiz show, annually runs a week of news personalities they call “Power Players,” in which they dumb down the questions and put our nightly news people on display. This year Cooper was among them. After a while you’ll get the hang of it, but it was Fredo, and not Serious, who was on that show this year. See to the left. Easy smile, pointed nose are two keys to telling them apart.

For those of you who eschew face splitting, I will tell you that as I randomly grabbed ten photos, I could tell without thinking that I was dealing with twins. Here is a side-by-side comparison, with the yellow line used to make sure the eyes are in alignment. The green line highlights the ear difference, and the red the chin.

As can be seen , Serious Cooper has lower ears, while Fredo has a shorter chin. Fredo also has a sharper nose. Keep in mind that while one photo is of an older twin, the other younger, ear lobes get longer with age, but ear height and skull shape remain constant. Noses can be altered by plastic surgery, but these have not. These are two different men.

Anderson Cooper, said to the son of Gloria Vanderbilt, has either a fake bio in which the Vanderbilt portion was invented, or really is that guy. If he really is that guy, then he was sent to England to become Steve Clark and impersonate a musician – and to learn how to act.

But Cooper’s bio is a little more interesting, as Gloria Vanderbilt is said to have had another son, Carter Cooper, who did a swan dive to his death at age 23 from the fourteenth floor of their New York City apartment in 1991. This is from an interview of Gloria by (Serious) Anderson in September of 2011:

‘I still run through it,’ she said. ‘He was sitting on the wall with one foot on there and one foot hanging over and he kept looking down.

‘And I kept begging him and then when he went, he went like an athlete, and hung over the wall like this.

‘And I said, “Carter, come back”, and for a minute I thought that he was going to come back, but he didn’t. He let go.’

She told her 44-year-old son, who was 21 at the time of the tragedy, ‘There was a moment when I thought I was going to jump over after him.

‘I thought of you and it stopped me.’

That is really sad, as any parent who has lost a child can testify. The problem is that I do not believe it. I think it is just bad writing, a damned soap-opera ending. Once I knew we were dealing with twins, I knew one had to leave his regular life to become the doppelgänger for the other. They chose a dramatic suicide as the back story.

Here is a photo of Carter Cooper, as nice and well-adjusted a young man as you will ever meet:

And here he is matched up with Fredo Cooper, the less serious twin:

Carter Cooper did not plunge to his death. He merely became the Anderson Cooper twin that we never knew about until today.

We rest our case. Anderson Cooper is a two-fer, both a twin AND a Zombie.

PS: Oops! I almost forgot. Which Cooper, Anderson or Carter, played the part of Steve Clark of Def Leppard? From all appearances, it was Fredo. Clark died in 1991, while Carter Cooper died in 1988, leaving three years there. However, I would not be surprised if both stepped in and out of the role, but that is a subject for further research, and I am tired. Please excuse the oversight.

Footnote: I ask readers to bear with me on this one, as in looking at other comparisons of Steve Clark and either Cooper twin, results are all over the board. When this happens, I usually go back to the person I am looking to compare to see if he or she is more than one person. What I am finding, as can seen with the photos below, is that Steve Clark does not match up well with Steve Clark – as if he had a double or twin in use. This would fit perfectly with use of both Coopers, Anderson and Carter, but the evidence does not take me there. So tomorrow morning, when my head is clear, I am going to re-examine this whole matter. In the meantime, see below the problem I am having – each person below is said to be Steve Clark.

We generally resolve these issues before publishing anything, but I rushed this one. I hope to clarify matters tomorrow.

15 thoughts on “Anderson Cooper: Both twin and zombie

  1. All right guys, I’m convinced about the twins. But I’m afraid the Def Leppard conneciton is going to need some clearing up.

    The band picture you posted at the top is a picture from their 2016 tour:
    The guy in the middle of the pic up top is not Steve Clark, but rather Joe Elliot, who has been their vocalist since 1992, just after Clark vanished. (I possess zero Def Leppard knowledge or trivia, this is all from a quick google search.)
    In the picture you posted from Europe, Steve Clark was second from the right.

    OK, those are minor matters. A little bit of oversight and rush-to-publish. Not a big deal. Here is where you lose me:

    Mark when you e-mailed me to tell me who Clark had become, I thought, well, with a little plastic surgery I could see it working. That is, Clark would have had to have plastic surgery to look more like Fredo. But here you show us a younger picture of Fredo. And he does not look like Clark. So it seems like Fredo would have had to undergo plastic surgery to look like Clark, and then reverse the process to look more like himself again? Doesn’t make sense to me. I would say there’s a fair amount of dissimilarity between Clark and Fredo — they don’t quite line up as nicely as some of the other matched. I think you guys might be off the mark on this one. What does a Clark/Young Fredo match up look like. Or perhaps you have thought of a plausible scenario to explain the young Fredo –> Clark –> older Fredo transformation?

    1. I guess I will blame it all on jet lag. I used a different band photo than the original one and did not check its date, just liking the way the guy I assumed to be Clark was holding the microphone in an odd way. I am gong to replace the one I used with the original, and this will make your comment seem out of place. I apologize for that.

      Secondly, all of my work today was on the twins aspect, and I didn’t even think to match up either twin with Clark. It was troublesome, but I did find one that matched with Fredo, and there have been, as far as I can tell no plastic surgeries on either man. I also went to the email from Straight that had the photos in it that convinced me while in Europe that we had our man, and those links are now dead. So I hastily used the one that you see that you do not like.

      What I am going to do here is take down that portion of the post, as it needs more work, and I am in no frame of mind to do it right now. I hope in the end that I can buttress up the zombie case, but if not, then I will call it a mistake and move on. The twins part I am sure of.

      1. Sounds like a good plan. I guess i could have sent you a private email but i think it’s good to have an open discussion and see how the sausage is made. I hope you agree. I think it says a lot about your integrity to be able to reconsider and rethink in an open forum like this. And i agree about the twins. Cheers and hope you feel better soon.

      2. It is getting more and more confusing, and could take more time than I anticipated. I am finding family photos now, and while the boys appear to be of equal age in some, in others they appear to be different in age. We know the McCartney boys each had plastic surgery to look more alike, so perhaps the Cooper project was seen as a very big deal in the beginning, more so than a lone CNN correspondent. I am leaning heavily towards one of them being in DL, but I first have to work out all the kinks on the Clark side of that matter, as he appears to be more than one person too.

        Anyway, don’t worry about public criticism – you’re an honest critic, and those we have to listen to. Straight is yet to chime in, must be busy, but he will have some insight too. I wish I had his original photos, but will get them again. At this point I am shelving it until my head is clear again.

        No jokes … OK, just one – when has not having a clear head ever stopped me before?

    2. It’s going to be messy while we sort out the twins. We figured out Cooper was twins late in the game.

      There is so much smoke and mirrors here with Clarks twins, Clark body doubles, Cooper twins, the brother’s suicide, the Vanderbilts, the gay thing, etc. Intelligence is unbelievable at misdirection and it’s going to take some time to untie these knots. But in my opinion, the Clark twins became the Cooper twins. Give us a few days to gather the evidence.

  2. Those who read Mathis know that he suspects most of entertainment to be closeted gays. Now that we are uncovering identical twins, we need to start asking questions about whether these guys are really gay, and if they are is it just one twin who is gay or both? And if either one or two are gay, what are the odds of having good looking and many times talented identical twins from a bloodline family who are also gay?

    We have already discussed IVF technology that is not available to the public that may be able to induce twins, but does this technology also increased the odds of homosexuality? Are these children raised to become homosexuals? Do they only pretend they are gay? What’s going on here?

    1. Yeah, good questions. I have wondered about that. Is Ellen DeGeneres really gay, or just hired to push that agenda? And Cooper … something not right about that. Is he fake gay? Is he closeted straight?

      Something else surfacing … One twin is less outgoing and expressive, as with the Joplins. It is as if they play off each other as children, and one developed the dominant role, the other became more introverted. I find introverts more interesting than extroverts, and note that Thom Hartmann said that extraverts are more likely to end up on TV, introverts on radio. The thing about extraverts … You never wonder about what they are really thinking.

      1. One of the best examples of this is with the Justin Timberlake twins (which we haven’t published yet, but we have confirmed). One is the extroverted, funny, ladies man that the girls go ga-ga over. The other is the excellent dancer, singer, and performer.

        You can quickly spot them just by watching an interview. One is effortlessly charming, and the other tries too hard to be the charming one. Together they make an extraordinarily talented “celebrity”.

        Closeted straight, haha. Have we already reached that point?

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There is no reason to love

There is no reason to love.

You might be wondering why I say there is no reason to love. I’ll explain after I try to explain what drives intense hate in powerful people. We need to know how our “enemies” work to defuse them.

The powerful hater, otherwise called elitist, evil banker, Hitler, Stalin, etc are normal people no different from us but they have all been deeply psychologicaly wounded by the failed parenting of their parents to the point they subconciously believe they are not worthy of love.

Children very often blame themselves when their parents argue and divorce. Similarly, these people subconciously blame themselves for not being loved and subconciously believe there is something deeply wrong with them. This is called toxic shame.

Parents who did not give enough love to their children are most likelly damaged themselves by their parents and they are folowing the example. The cicle continues generation after generation.

The parents of the powerful hater did not give him enough love and any love was most likely dependant on the behaviour of the child. This makes the child feel he is not accepted for what he or she is because the whole is never accepted, only the parts that their parents see as good behaviour. This further reinforces the subconcious belief that there is something deeply wrong with them. So wrong that their true selves are unlovable. This then leads to low self esteem.

This is the beginning of the narcissist. To live with these thoughts would be unbearable. To keep them in the subconcious they develop defence mechanisms. To combat the low self esteem they develop the pride defence. The fast cars, the fancy watches, the big incomes, etc are all there to feed the illusion that they are better than everyone else because without this pride they would feel that painful feeling that there is something deeply wrong with them. They cannot feel as an equal because the pride defence mechanism cannot stop the feeling that they are different.

The greater the pride in someone, the less they felt unconditional love (true love) when they where childs and the greater their fear of rejection and lack of ability to trust people. Their fear of rejection is caused by their parents rejecting them as they truly are and the fear of trusting people is a way to protect themselves from the fear of rejection, as nobody can reject you if they don’t know you.

Those are the most common defence mechanisms to their subconcious belief that there is something deeply wrong with them (toxic shame). This is Narcissism.

However, I believe that in extreme situations there can be other defense mechanisms to this toxic shame. The narcissist hates it when someone hurts their pride (called narcissistic injury in psychology) because it momentarily uncovers their subconcious belief that there is something deeply wrong with them. To every deep psychological pain the mind tries to develop a defence mechanism. Only the most narcissistic feel the pain is intense enough for a defense mechanism against the injury of their pride.

The way they defend against narcissistic injury is by accepting there is something deeply wrong with them. They start believing the reason their parents didn’t love them was because they are evil but because they now feel evil is their nature they believe evil is good because that is their nature and doing what we consider good is going against nature.

However, they don’t understand on a concious level their bias towards being evil so they rationalize it by creating ideologies that are partially scientific as they include parts of many theories like Eugenics. However, this defence mechanism is just another layer. The pride defence mechanism is still working and that makes them think they are superior in intelligence and are thus right in thinking their evil biased theories are right and unbiased.

In conclusion, the powerful hater does not hate most of the time but rather feels that evil is good because he believes his nature is evil and whatever is natural is good. It all stems from their toxic shame, their belief that there is something deeply wrong with them. They have created several layers of defence mechanisms over this toxic shame to protect themselves of it becoming concious because the psychological pain would be unbearable.

So why do I say “there no reason to love”? Well, because most people would interpret that as “loving is pointless”, however their subconcious, where bias does not exist, would also interpret it as “love is not dependant on behaviour” or “love is unconditional”. It’s a tool to get through the defence mechanisms of the powerful hater and to help heal the wound their parents created in their childhood. This will make them slightly fustrated because it will create a conflict between the subconcious belief and the concious one and then this fustration will turn into anger. When these people are angry they make mistakes that will wake up people. That’s what we need.

There is a bloodbath pretty much every generation. This is the cicle of bad parenting. The only way to cure our planet from this cicle that will ultimately leads us to self extermination is through the teaching of good parenting and true love, the unconditional one.

Never give up.

Unknown source

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text:
Last Resort

Linda Niehoff

The memories moved up from the dark bottom of dark water and hovered just below the surface like oily inky fish. Evie couldn’t see their details, but she could see enough. Then they moved and when they moved, she screamed. And rode in a yellow taxi to the drive that circled around a fountain on a drizzly afternoon where the thousand elm trees covered her like an umbrella as she pulled a compact suitcase inside.

The tiny pink pills were for forgetting. They were the color of a fragile thing in a second hand shop like a rosebud on a paper thin plate. Not something trapped in a container, tumbling out into a trembling palm. On bad days they were the color of open mouths.

Evie knew for a little while what it was to forget. Forgetting was deep and blue and rose up and up in tender waves. It felt good in her veins. But soon the forgetting shrank.

The glossy brochure was for when the pills stopped working. The brochure promised. Guaranteed. Forget everything, it said. Its cover showed a large L-shaped porch wrapped around the stony building, holding empty wicker chairs. Eighteen acres of nothing, the pamphlet boasted. And time, it said. Time to forget.

A Thousand Elms was a resort – a last resort. It even said so on the cream letterpress stationery that seemed haunting and final in its black unfrilly letters. The place was old. Ghosts whispered in the chandeliers and in the cords of the ancient limping elevator with the accordion door.

Dinner was simple— lettuce and a square of beef. The dining room uncrowded, the wait staff like the stationery was cream and black. Simple and stark. Afterward, she wandered around the building and found alcoves and dead ends and a shadowy pool in the basement empty of people. She walked down hallways past all those closed doors guarding private lives like sentries. No noise came out into the hall except once a TV slightly too loud blurted out canned laughter. She wondered what they all wanted to forget, but she had to be careful. The fish almost started moving again. A flash of their black slithering skin was enough.

Evie thought of other things. She counted people. Each one she saw. There weren’t many—she didn’t even get up to ten. It wasn’t the season.

The rain had stopped so she went outside. It wasn’t dark yet but there was a soon feeling in the mosquito thick air that had driven everyone else inside. The windows behind her on the stony building were tall golden rectangles reflecting the evening light and hiding people as they listened to recorded laughter. Ahead of her globs of light shimmered in the touching branches and a darkness beyond waited.  Everything felt in-between. Not light not dark not summer not fall. Not remembering not forgetting.

Evie wanted to forget. Wanted it more than anything. All at once it seemed so easy to turn back around and go inside one of those golden rectangles. To shut herself away and curl up into laughing voices. But with darkness coming soon the golden evening was more beautiful. Maybe because it was the final edge of light.

And for a tiny second before the fish moved again before they came up close to the water and revealed their dark oily skins, before they turned full moon eyes up to her and opened pink and silver mouths to devour her, she felt a tiny bubble stretch inside her. Just a few more seconds of that precious not summer not fall light. She breathed in the silver grass, the wood smell that seemed sweeter in the almost dark that smelled like earth and green and life. The bubble grew, and she knew its thin shell was fragile. That when something grew too big it burst.

But she couldn’t help it. The not day not night was so perfect so beautiful it almost held her in its own soft shell. And she stood watching it even as the light faded thinking it was almost worth it. It was almost worth the oily fish and their pink gaping mouths.

Linda Niehoff is a writer and photographer living in a small Kansas town. She’s in love with silver water towers, ghost stories, and instant film. Her short fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in TriQuarterly, Necessary Fiction, and Midwestern Gothic, among others. She blogs on and off at and is on twitter:@lindaniehoff.


text:
My CVS beauty clearance haul!

So, in case you missed it, CVS is having an epic clearance on beauty items right now. A lot of items are 50-75% off, and when you stack coupons with these sales, you can even get items free! Check out Nouveau Cheap’s Masterlist to see the full list, and be sure to check out your local CVS!

My haul:

Milani Crystal Gloss in Fruit Punch (75%) $1.37
Milani Crystal Gloss in Sheer Black Honey (75%) $1.37
Revlon Lipbutter in Creamscicle (75%) $1.95 (however, when I scanned my card at the kiosk, it printed a $2 off any Revlon item, so this lipstick was free!)
Essence of Beauty Oil Blotting Papers (75%) $1.19
Maybelline Eye Studio Shadow in Enchanted Forest (50%) $4.99
Orly Nail Polish in Crimson (50%) $3.89
Maybelline Colorshow Nail Polish in Blue Blowout(50%) 1.89
Rimmel 6 Hr Lipgloss in Diva (75%) $1.32
Rimmel Lasting Finish by Kate in 15 (75%) $1.19
Rimmel Glam Eyes HD in English Oak (75%) $1.45
CVS nail polish remover (75%) $.47 (Not pictured, as I figured y’all have seen nail polish remover before)

Total: $19.13


text:
The Nature of Spring

The Nature of Spring

Photos.BabyBirds1 5.31.17

Baby Sparrows Sleeping

Photos.BabyBirds.eating 5.31.17

Baby Sparrows waiting for Dinner!

Each year a new family of Sparrows return to nest in my Cookie jar, which I had stored on my terrace.  Within the month, these little babies will be ready to take flight.  And the nest remains empty until next Spring when new eggs suddenly appear waiting to hatch on my Terrace!

About Pamela Baker

For as long as I can remember, I have always been interested in various crafts. After crocheting for many years, recently I started designing OOAK jewelry pieces, always learning new techniques as I continued. I also have always loved to write, so I look forward to being a part of this Blog as one it's contributors. As a lifelong resident of NY, I am busy with my two shops on Etsy: MagdaleneJewels (OOAK designed jewelry items: Necklace,Bracelets, Earrings,rings): also, MagdaleneKnits (Crocheted & Knitted items for Newborns to Adults) I can also be found on FB, Twitter, Pinterest, Word Press, YouTube. My Blogs are: I also intend to bring tutorials to help you develop your Shops more effectively to increase your Views and Sales on the various mediums you may be selling your work on. I am always a convo or email away if you have any specific questions I can help you with.
This entry was posted in All Members, BloggingBusinessArtisans, MagdaleneJewelsBlog, Nature, Photography, Spring, STATTeam, Uncategorized, Wordless Wednesday and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to The Nature of Spring

  1. natashalh says:

    Cute! Unfortunately the only baby birds I usually see are chickens and I’m sick of them! The chicks are cute, but before long they’ll be more adults making noise and waking me up at 5 am!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Pamela Baker says:

    It is funny although they are inside the cookie jar, my kitty, I guess sees the mother bring them food, as she sits at the window for hours watching. She can sense they are in the jar. At least they are not waking me up at 5am!!!

  3. Those little mouths open. I can only imagine the din at feeding time 😉

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text:
JN Originals

by Judy Nolan

jnoriginals.Raspberry Floral Brooch 2012

                                                           jnoriginals – Floral Brooch (2012)

This Article was originally written in 2012 – thought it would be interesting to see how much Judy has evolved in the past five years!!!

jnoriginals.Crocheted Sentimental Flower Brooch 2017

          jnoriginals – Felted Sentimental Floral Brooch (2017)

Using the words of Carl Sandberg, “Nothing happens unless first we dream”, Judy enhances his words with her own “Dreams are also realized when we ask ‘What if…?’ and ‘Why not…?’” These two thoughts are the basis of Judy’s OOAK creations in her shop, http: //jnoriginals.etsy.com, opened in 2007.

Round Felted Needlebook

Felted Needlebook by jnoriginals

When I envision one of Judy’s creations, the first thing that comes to mind are her unique and colorful “Felted Needle Books.” I purchased one a few years ago, and can never go anywhere without it when working on a project! Also, one cannot miss her colorful felted bowls with their flower appliques.

 *** Many years later I still use my “Needle Book” everything – although a little worn as the corners, with the help of my dog, Piper, who redecorated one of the corners!!!

JudyNolan.Needlebook. 6.16.17
My Felted Needlebook (2012)

Judy’s talent is also showcased in her beautifully crocheted scarfs, hats, and wide headbands, all of which come in various colors. I especially love her “Ruffled Scarflettes” with their flower appliques. Not only perfect for those cold winter days, but a fashion statement of their own. My favorite is the “Raspberry Ruffled Scarflette” (shown below) which also comes in a variety of other colors.

JnOriginals.OffWhite WideHeadband      jnoriginals.Crocheted Raspberry Scarflette

Crocheted Wide Headband w Flower                      Crocheted Raspberry Scarflette

It is no wonder that Judy’s work looks so professional, as she has won various awards in the Fabric & Threads Division at the Iowa State Fair, which she now shares with her many followers.

Flash forward from 2012 to 2017:  Judy’s main featured Shop on Etsy is now MrPenQuin.etsy.com, which she opened in 2009.

MisterPenQuin features carefully handcrafted photo books, gratitude journals, blank books, gratitude journals, date books, Graduation Gifts, and other items. All items are ready to ship; custom orders welcomed!

Blog.MrPenQuin.FloralGratitudeBook 6.15.17

MrPenQuin Floral Gratitude Book

MrPenQuin.BirdsinParisGratitudeBook 6.17.17

Birds in Paris Gratitude Book

Looking for Vintage Patterns?  Welcome to Judy’s 3rd Shop:                                     2nd ChanceTreasures.

JudyNolan.2ndChanceBanner 2017

According to Judy – I don’t believe in tossing what someone else can use. Give these treasures a second chance!

2ndChance.LauraAshley Business Bag Pattern

Laura Ashley Business Bag Pattern

2nChance.Butterick Womens Fashion Pattern

Butterick Women’s Fashion Patterns

A woman of many talents, visit Judy at her many Shops:

– Mister PenQuin Too, http://MisterPenQuinToo.etsy.com (coming soon!)
– JN Originals, http://JNoriginals.etsy.com
– 2nd Chance Treasures, http://2ndChanceTreasures.etsy.com

or her Social Media sites:

Web Site: http://www.judy-nolan.com
Facebook: ThisCreativeJourney
Twitter: ThisCreativJrny
Google+: https://plus.google.com/+Judy-nolan/posts

About Pamela Baker

For as long as I can remember, I have always been interested in various crafts. After crocheting for many years, recently I started designing OOAK jewelry pieces, always learning new techniques as I continued. I also have always loved to write, so I look forward to being a part of this Blog as one it's contributors. As a lifelong resident of NY, I am busy with my two shops on Etsy: MagdaleneJewels (OOAK designed jewelry items: Necklace,Bracelets, Earrings,rings): also, MagdaleneKnits (Crocheted & Knitted items for Newborns to Adults) I can also be found on FB, Twitter, Pinterest, Word Press, YouTube. My Blogs are: http://pamelabaker.wordpress.com/wp-admin/users I also intend to bring tutorials to help you develop your Shops more effectively to increase your Views and Sales on the various mediums you may be selling your work on. I am always a convo or email away if you have any specific questions I can help you with.
This entry was posted in All Members, BloggingBusinessArtisans, Fashion, Handmade Gifts, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to JN Originals

  1. This is a great little tribute! I love how you’ve looked back and compared it too!

    Liked by 1 person

    • Pamela Baker says:

      Actually – this is an updated Article of Judy’s Shops – I originally did this Article for our “original” EtsyBlogger’s Team, 5 years ago.
      **More articles of past Blogger’s to come!!!!

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Screenplay Book Club - Screenplay Book Club

We are Hunter Rising and Matt Dernlan, two guys working to write screenplays, and each week, we read and dissect feature screenplays to discuss themes, intent, characters, plot, you name it! What started as a weekly hobby to stay in contact and keep us reading has evolved into this podcast today. Screenwriting is an activity we are both very passionate about and want to excel in further. Please join us as we continue to read and progress all while having a little bit of fun.
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Portrait Artist of the Year

Portrait Artist of the Year is a television competition shown on the Sky Arts channel which aims to find the best portrait painter every year.
Through several rounds of regional competitions in different parts of the UK professional and amateur artists are challenged to produce a portrait of one of three famous sitters. The winning artist of each round, selected by three judges, advances to the semifinal and then to the final, which are filmed at the National Portrait Gallery. The winner receives an £10,000 commission to paint a famous personality and the picture becomes part of a national gallery. The show is produced by London and Glasgow-based independent production company Storyvault Films, which also produces Sky Arts Landscape Artist of the Year. It is presented by the UK TV personalities Joan Bakewell and Frank Skinner.
The judges are the British art historian, curator and arts broadcaster Kate Bryan, head of contemporary art at the Fine Art Society, Kathleen Soriano, director of exhibitions at the Royal Academy, and portrait painter Tai-Shan Schierenberg.

Description provided by Wikipedia

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Dec 1, 2016

Season 3
Episode 9

Taking a look at the Sky Arts Portrait Artist of the Year 2017 winner's journey through the competition and their stunning work.
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Dec 1, 2016
Dec 1, 2016

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Tag: Oldham Athletic

Steve McManaman: What a boy!

December 5, 1990 Lawrie McMenemy yesterday sent a message of hope to England’s aspiring youngsters by naming Liverpool unknown Steve McManaman in his Under-21 side tonight. “It proves you don’t have to be in somebody’s First Division team to earn recognition,” said the England No 2. The tall […]

Superkid move

Tuesday, January 8 – 1985 Liverpool will today beat a cluster of First Division rivals for the signature of Oldham’s £200,000-rated teenaged starlet Wayne Harrison. The League champions last night agreed terms with Oldham and the player travels to Anfield today to become Britain’s costliest player at his […]

Benjamin Howard Baker

Born: February 13 – 1892, in Aigburth, in England. Passed away: September 10 – 1987, in Warminster, in England. Position: Goalkeeper. Height: Weight: Career: Marlborough Old Boys. Liverpool Balmoral. Blackburn Rovers. Preston North End. Liverpool, eligible, Aug. 12 – 1914. Blackburn Rovers, signed, Nov. 6 – 1914. Chelsea. […]

Kennedy set to join Liverpool

Thursday, August 10 – 1978 Alan Kennedy, Newcastle’s under 23 full back, is on his way to Vienna this morning – discussing his transfer to Liverpool. Newcastle have agreed a fee – around £300,000 – but Kennedy is discussing his personal terms with Liverpool’s general secretary Peter Robinson […]

Walter James Rowley (Walter Rowley) @ PlayUpLiverpool.com

All articles about Walter Rowley on PlayUpLiverpool.com. About Walter Rowley: Born: April 14, 1891: Little Hulton, England. Passed away: March 22, 1976: Shrewsbury (Shropshire), England. Position: Centre-half. Height: Weight: Career: Farnworth Wednesday: 1907. Walkden Wednesday: 1908. Little Hulton Wednesday: 1909. Oldham Athletic: 1910. * 1910-11: 0-0 (Football League […]

Hugh Moffat

All article about Hugh Moffat on PlayUpLiverpool. About Hugh Moffat: Born: January 24 – 1885, in Congleton, in Cheshire. Passed away: November 14 – 1952, in Congleton, in Cheshire. Position: Half back. Height: 179 cm (5 ‘ 10 1/2); Weight: 78 kg (12 – 4). Career: Congleton Swifts. […]

Watkinson leaves Liverpool

Friday, January 19 – 1951 Accrington Stanley, Northern Third Division side, have paid their biggest fee for the transfer of Billy Watkinson, the Liverpool reserve centre forward. Watkinson, who has played several times in Liverpool’s first eleven, will lead his new club in their home League match against […]

Liverpool must win at Oldham

May 11, 1945 Liverpool must win at Boundary Park against Oldham if they are to retain title interest. The loss of even one point will put paid to their hopes more or less. Still, the Reds showed sufficient in last week’s clash to indicate a victory, provided the […]

Liverpool took Oldham too cheaply

May 7, 1945 When Oldham hit back It is not often that Liverpool fall into the error of taking the opposition too cheaply but on Saturday against Oldham Athletic they did, and as a result had to fight hard for the lead after giving the visitors a football […]

Oldham Athletic next at Anfield

May 4, 1945 Chief interest centres on our local clubs, and Liverpool should make no mistake about improving their position when they meet Oldham Athletic at Anfield tomorrow. This will be a welcome visit for the ‘Latics have not played here this season. Oldham are a tough side, […]

The remainding fixtures for Liverpool

May 3, 1945 Liverpool have completed their fixture list for the remainder of the season – and an attractive list it is embracing matches with two First Division clubs. Everton’s concluding matches depend on how they fare in the Lancashire Cup. Liverpool are at home to Oldham Athletic […]

Oldham to play at Anfield

May 2, 1945 Liverpool have arranged to play Oldham Athletic in a Football League match at Anfield on Saturday. Manchester City contemplated accenting the fixture, but have decided not to play any more games this season. This will be Oldham’s first visit to Anfield this campaign. The return […]

Billy Liddell back for Liverpool F.C.

Friday, March 16 – 1945 Manager George Kay, of Liverpool, has received word that Billy Liddell, the Scottish international, and Cumner, of Wales and Arsenal, are certain starters against Tranmere Rovers, at Prenton Park in the North Cup. This removes some of the furrows on the Kay brow, […]

Invites for the Lancashire Cup

Tuesday, August 4 – 1942 When and how the Lancashire Senior Football Cup Competition is to be played this season will be decided at a meeting to be held at the Pack Horse Hotel, Bolton, on Saturday. The Competition Sub-Committee have invited the following 16 clubs to the […]

Football plans 1942-43

June 10, 1942 Maximum entertainment with the minimum of travel. That is the aim of the Football League for season 1942-43, which begins on August 29, the scheme for which reached the clubs today. The Home Office has expressed the Government’s desire to interfere as little as possible […]


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Monday Stories: A Forrest Meeting

An owl’s cry echoes through the night. A man stirs slightly. Hidden in the shadow of three old trees, he watches the forest. Twin moons give enough light to move without the need for torchlight. Here a deer slowly moves through the woods. A pair of foxes moves swiftly through the gaps in the underbrush. Still, the man waits. All around him the buzz of insects and the croak of hidden frogs fill the still air.

The man takes quiet, even breathing. He remains still. His brown skin is marked by countless scars from past battles. His leather armor is equally worn.

Abruptly the night sounds fall silent.

He carefully tightens his grip on a pair of daggers.

His dark eyes scan the forest, seeking anything out of the ordinary. Anything unusual.

Then he sees a shadowy figure move.

The figure moves carefully, silently, from one tree to the next. His black cloak gives him a shadow-like quality. The figure is hunched over, pausing every now and then. Little by little, the figure moves closer to where the man hides. The man keeps track of how slow time is passing by the shadows of the trees. An hour passes before the figure reaches his hiding place.

The man tenses, his hands gripping the swords.

“I smell you.” The figure hisses.

He straightens and faces the man’s hiding place.

“I smell your hatred. Your fear.”

Slowly the man rises and steps forward. His swords remain drawn but at his side. The figure nods his head in understanding. He draws his hood back, revealing pale skin and an aristocratic face. The figure’s black hair is pulled back and tied in a single ponytail. Despite his handsome human features, his eyes are little more than solid black orbs.

“Who are you, hunter?”

“I am Kal, Son of Anon of the O’di Clan.” The man answers as he assumes a combat stance. “And you?”

The figure throws his black cloak aside, revealing black armor. A red hand print adorns the chest armor. “I am Krishna of the Line of Lucia.”

For a moment, they stand in the moonlight eyeing one another. It is clear both have lived the life of warriors. And it is clear that both are skilled and seasoned by long experience.

“Why do you wait for me in the dark?” Krishna asks.

The question catches him off guard.

“Why do you wait to murder me?”

“You are hunting.”

“Am I? Do you see any humans nearby? Do you see any others besides me? Do you see the so-called war paint upon my face? The blood of our victims as your kind claim we do? Do you see bloodlust or rage?”

“You are killers–”

“By those of you who hate my kind! You cannot listen to the words of those who hate us! Me! Their words are tainted. Look to your feelings and hear those who agree with us. That peace can exist between our kinds. That we can live beside one another.”

A warning in Kal’s heart gives him pause. He takes a deep breath and tightens his grip on the steel swords.

Krishna makes the first move. He becomes a little more than a black whirlwind. Red blades appear out of thin air. Kal barely has enough time to get his own steel blades in place to parry. In seconds, they are lost in the rhythm of the battle.

Silver blade against red sword.

Their blows strike hard enough to send sparks flying. Their clashes echo through the night. Back and forth, the two males battle. Back and forth they struggle. A monetary weakness gives the other the advantage but a mistake quickly shifts the balance of power back. They become black shadows. Faster than any human could possible dream of.

A heartbeat passes and the two combatants split apart.

For a moment they pause to catch their breath.

Kal’s left leg sports a deep wound and is barely able to hold his weight. A blow to his ribs has caused him pain with each breath. His arm and forehead bear lighter wounds. Sweat dampens his armpits and back. Fear dampens his palms.

Krishna is little better off. His chest is riddled with stabs wounds. His right arm bear several deep wounds while his left kneecap is askew.

“Why do you hunt us.” Krishna snarls, “What have we done to you?”

“You are an evil that must be destroyed.” Kal wheezes out. His vision is darkening around the corners. “That is reason enough.”

“Evil? We did not choose this. None of us did. We became this because another was forced to do what they must to survive.” Krishna stalks forward, “We do what we do to survive! We have the right to survive and live as we please! As do you and your kind!”

“You are murdering innocents!”

“What innocents?” Krishna snaps back, anger giving him strength, “Have you heard of a man disappearing or a family found slaughtered? Have you heard stories where children vanish from their beds or whole villages disappearing? No! We are not murders!”

“Your kind has preyed on us for ages. Only the War Clans have risen to stop you.”

The black armored figure scoffs, “You fool. You War Clans fight among yourself. Was it not just three days ago where two Clans destroyed each other? And what of our deeds? Have we not lived in peace beside you? Have we not killed or hunted the humans?”

Kal prepares to continue the fight.

“You cannot be serious! Put aside your blades and your hatred. Hear me and the truth I tell you. Please!”

“Why should I listen to you?” Kal answers. “Everything you have said and done?”

“Tell me! What have we done to harm you? Have you seen us killed? Or maim? Or have you seen my kind react to you as you hunt us in our own homelands. As your kind kill us in our villages and homes. Have we not the right to defend ourselves?”

For a moment, Kal hesitates.

“You cannot think of an instance? Can you? Where we have hunted and killed humans. None because we have not acted so.” Krishna takes a deep, labored breath, “We wish only to live beside you. I know you have heard our pleas and our cries for peace. We are not evil though we act out of defense. All that we have done we have done so because of your aggression. Your hatred towards us.”

Kal’s blades drop as the truth of Krishna’s words takes root.

For Krishna is right. No humans had been slaughtered. No lives had been consumed. Krishna and his kind were staying away from the humans.

Krishna strikes.

He crosses the distance like a black lightning bolt, sinking his blade deep into his gut. Kal groans as he drops his swords. The hit the ground with a metallic thud as he sinks towards the earth. Krishna stands over him with an evil grin.

“You fool. This is why we vampires will win. You let our words blind you. You let your own doubts slow you. Tonight I shall dine on the blood of children. Because of you.”

Kal watches the vampire stepped out of sight. Above him, two moons slowly pass out of sight.

As the world grows dark, Kal hears children screaming in the night.


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Meta Rate My Team PokéBase - Pokémon Q&A
1 vote

It's moves right now are: Surf, Earthquake, Ice Beam, and Brick Brake.

asked by
Did you end up teaching it Skull Bash?

3 Answers

0 votes
Best answer

Because skull bash needs 2 turns to deal damage

Hope this helps

answered by
edited by
Thanks but, I think I'm gonna keep brick break.
yeah brick break is fine
5 votes

Well it depends

It upgrades your defense by one stage on the first turn, then it attacks, It charges, and you can get more damage with any of your moves in 2 turns then it could, so In my Opinion No, but if you have to get it, get rid of Brick Brake

answered by
Why does this answer get 2 upvotes and mine 0?
because your's got BA and probably some thought this was better
I'd like to point out that you got the BA. Which is worth twenty points.
2 votes

It is a good move but it does take 2 turns to use. It makes your defense go up by one stage also. So you might want to get it but you will be fine without it also. Either way it would be fine. If you got it I would get rid of brick break.

If you want to find out more about Skull Bash: Click this

Hope I helped!

answered by
edited by
very late dont answer question that already has given the BA
Thanks even though your late FV! +1
I just wanted to give out my suggestion.
I wasn't THAT late.


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22 December 2014 @ 01:19 pm
FIC: Light of Christmas - A H/C Advent 2014 Fic
Title: Lights of Christmas
Word Count: ~4700
Rating: PG13
Characters/Pairings: Neal, Peter, Elizabeth, P/E/N
Spoilers: None
Warnings: None
Summary: My 2014 H/C Advent entry. Fills this prompt from sahiya - An oldie but goodie: Peter and Elizabeth are out of town for Christmas when Neal gets sick - really sick. He doesn't want them to worry, so he stops answering the phone. But then they find out the truth (from Moz? June?) and they hurry back to be with him. This is not S6 compliant.

And, thank you kanarek13 for the beautiful cover art!

The day before Christmas Eve was typical for New York during the season, frigidly cold and blustery. Neal tucked himself into his warmest wool coat and headed to midtown to complete the ritual he had begun the first Christmas after he was released from Sing Sing.

He called a cab to drive him, giving his charges Satchmo and Bugsy a final pet on his way out the door. Peter and Elizabeth were in Illinois visiting with her family for the holiday and June had taken her grandchildren to the mountains of Switzerland.

When the cab pulled up at his destination, Neal smiled at the sight of the massive Rockefeller Center Christmas tree outside his window. He paid the cabbie and then stepped out onto the sidewalk before the concourse. He stood there for a minute admiring the view of the tree in the distance. It was beautiful and as much a statement of what the holiday meant to him as anything else could be.

One of his few fond childhood memories was of watching the tree lighting ceremony on the small TV in the living room with his mother in early December every year. She had loved it, calling it her birthday gift from New York City, as the event often fell on her birthday, December fifth. Neal shook off the nostalgia and the image of the worn and threadbare living room in the house that he had shared in St. Louis with his mother and returned to the festive sight before him.

The concourse was bustling with tourists, dressed in their finest winter attire. Children laughing as they twirled among the towering white angels with their golden horns that decorated the walkway, busy shoppers with their packages and bags hurrying along, seemingly oblivious to the majesty of Christmas in New York, businessmen and women with their phones to their ears trying in vain to hear over the wind that tunneled between the buildings and avenues.

Neal sidestepped into Starbucks on his way toward the tree and purchased a peppermint mocha as a nod to the season and to help him stave off the frigid chill in the air. With his latte in hand, he made his way down to the railing perched above the skating rink. The massive Christmas tree stood just across from him, forest green punctuated with a million colored lights and topped with a shining silver star. Below him skaters circled the rink to the strains of Christmas music that grew muffled and indistinct as it was carried away on the cold wind.

Neal shivered inside his coat and gripped his coffee cup a little tighter in his hands. For a moment he let himself indulge in longing for his lovers, 800 miles distant. He would have liked to share this moment with them. Next year, when he was off the anklet they would spend the holiday together, somewhere snowy, where they could snuggle up together and be a family. Peter and El had tried to get out of the trip to her parents’ home, but they had been insistent and El’s father had stared Peter down over a skype call. Under the scrutiny, Peter had caved and immediately made the airline reservations. They would be home by dinnertime the day after Christmas and the three of them would celebrate then. Neal smiled at the thought of their reunion.

He stood there at the railing for another fifteen minutes, enjoying the sight of the tree and the skaters beneath it, the sound of the flags above him whipping in the wind and the Christmas music that drifted up to his ears, until he finished the last dregs of his mocha. It was time for the next part of his ritual.

He made his way back up the concourse to Fifth Avenue, crossed the street and went uptown one block to the monument to gothic architecture that dominated the block, St. Patrick’s Cathedral. He took at moment to look up to the spires where they breached the blue sky above admiring their artistry. Then he climbed the stone steps and made his way into one of the massive bronze doors, following a line of tourists. Inside the narthex he bypassing the gawkers and quickly turned into the nave. Standing at the bottom of the center aisle, Neal took a deep breath and let the underlying calm that pervaded the space, despite the comings and goings of so many tourists, fill him. His eyes followed the soaring columns up to the second set of stained glass windows tinted in a myriad shades of blue. Not much light penetrated them this deep within the city, so the Cathedral appeared dim and hushed, even in the middle of this bright, clear-skied day.

Neal took a few more moments to enjoy the beauty of the building and the feeling it evoked before moving over to a rack of votive candles behind the pews. He stuffed a twenty in the collection box, grabbed three of the small candles from the cardboard box on the side of the rack and then scoured the glass containers until he found three that were unlit. He placed his candles in them and then pulled one of the wooden sticks from the sand, lighting it from one of the flames near his first candle. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he lit his own candles. One for Kate. One for Ellen. One for Rebecca. He wasn’t a religious man, or one who normally placed much credence in ritual, but he did believe in remembering, in honoring those he had loved, those that had loved him in return. He stood and watched the small flames flicker, gold and blue and white, for long enough that tears began to prickle at the corners of his eyes and then he said a quiet goodbye and left the cathedral.

Back on the street, the bitter winds assaulted him, whipping the tails of his coat around his legs. The cold air stung at his lungs and he gave a silent thank you to the spirits of Christmas that helped him find a cab so quickly as he sank into the back seat. At June’s, Neal leashed up the dogs and took them for a short walk; it was bitter enough that even they didn’t want to be outside for long.

Back in his apartment, he was leaning over snapping off Bugsy’s leash when his vision began to tunnel in and tip dangerously to the left. He blinked and straightened up carefully and slowly his vision cleared, but then his stomach flipped, a sour taste rising in his throat and a cold sweat breaking over his skin.

Neal suddenly felt the need to reach the bathroom, quickly, but between the delicate feeling in his stomach and his fear of the return of the dizziness, he was forced to take it slow. As soon as he made it through the doorway and flipped up the lid on the toilet he felt better, his stomach settling enough that he had hope that it was a false alarm. He moved over to the sink and filled a glass with cool water and began sipping at it slowly.

Unfortunately, his hope turned out to be in vain as the nausea returned with even more ferocity. Still standing, he leaned over the bowl, bracing his arms on the tank and lost his latte and the little bit of water he had just consumed. Sadly, the peppermint mocha didn’t taste nearly as good on the way back up.

When he was finally done, he made his way back over to the sink and rinsed his mouth out. His throat stung. He was thirsty and he wanted more water, but his stomach didn’t seem to be on board with that idea at all. So he left the bathroom and slowly crossed his apartment to his bed. He pulled off the wool coat he was still wearing, his suit jacket and tie and then kicked off his shoes before falling into the bed and pulling the edge of the comforter over himself. He curled onto his side and shivered hard until his body heat created a warm pocket inside the bedding.

He was certain that the bright daylight streaming into his rooms and the discomfort he was still feeling, especially from his stomach, would prevent him from sleeping, but it wasn’t long at all before he drifted off.

The sound of his phone ringing woke him hours later. He rolled onto his back and pulled the phone from his pants pocket. He blinked to clear his vision and checked the phone’s display. Peter Burke.

Neal cleared his throat in an attempt to help himself sound healthy and hale and then hit accept. “Hey, Peter.”

“Hey, buddy. El and I are both here. We have you on speaker.”

Neal winced. He might have had a chance of keeping Peter in the dark, but El was like a hawk with its eye on a rabbit across a plain when she caught the scent of illness in the air. “Hi, El.”

“Hi, sweetie. You sound tired.”

“I am a bit. I stayed up too late last night watching a marathon of old Christmas movies. I’ll be fine once I get a good night’s sleep tonight.” The lie didn't come easy, in fact he abhorred lying to Peter and El, but a little white lie to keep them from worrying while they were so far away enjoying their holiday was more than worth yet another black mark on his soul. "How’s it going there?"

El laughed lightly. “My dad has Peter completely paranoid.”

Neal could hear Peter grumbling. “It’s not paranoia, it’s fear. It always has been.”

“You have nothing to fear from my father. You're my husband.”

“Maybe you should tell him that.”

“What are you planning for tomorrow, Neal?” El asked, deftly changing the subject.

“Just a bottle of wine and a book. I’m waiting to celebrate until you’re back.”

“We’re looking forward to it, Neal.” Peter said in a voice that sent warmth spreading all the way down to Neal’s toes.

“Me too,” Neal replied.

“Okay, we need to get back downstairs for cocktails.”

Neal smiled at the distain he heard in his beer-loving partner’s voice. “Okay. Talk to you tomorrow?”

“Absolutely. And Neal, no Hallmark Channel for you tonight,” Peter admonished lightheartedly.

“I promise. Love you.”

“We love you too.” El replied. “Good night.”

Neal ended the call and dropped the phone onto the bed beside him with a sigh. He’d dodged a bullet. He didn’t want to worry his lovers, especially when they were too far away to do anything but worry.

He hoped he would indeed feel better tomorrow, after a good night’s sleep. With any luck, it was just the mocha. Maybe the milk was turning. He wanted to believe that, he really did, but it was hard to ignore the fact that even with the latte gone from his stomach for hours now, he still felt queasy and a nasty headache had settled into the base of his skull.

Neal knew he should get up, get some water, take something for the headache, change into his pajamas so he could get more comfortable, but keeping it together during his phone call with El and Peter had taken what little energy he had had. He rolled over onto his side again, slowly, breathing through his nose, careful not to make his nausea worse, and closed his eyes. This time it took a while, despite how tired he felt, to fall asleep.

It was the sound of whining that woke him next. Neal listened for a moment trying to think past his headache to figure out exactly what was he was hearing. The sound came again, higher pitched this time and Neal remembered, Bugsy and Satchmo.

His apartment was dark but for the city lights filtering in through the balcony doors. Neal reached over tentatively and turned on his bedside lamp. The warm glow reached across his apartment. The dogs noticed the change and bounded to Neal’s bedside.

"I'm sorry guys." Neal levered himself up gently and swung his legs off the side of the bed. His head swam, the ache in the base of his skull building. He waited until he felt as stable as he thought was going to be possible and then stood and made his way slowly around the dogs and into the kitchen. He made their dinners, the scent of the dry dog food escalating his nausea alarmingly. After a few deep breathes he placed their bowls on the floor by bending at the knees and supporting himself with one hand firmly on the counter.

Bugsy ate so fast he could hardly have tasted a morsel and then danced around Satchmo looking for a way to get his head into the Lab's bowl.

While they ate, Neal made his way back over to where his shoes and coat lay strewn. He slipped his feet back into the loafers and pulled the coat on and by the time he made his way over to his front door the dogs were waiting for him.

He snapped on both of their leashes, but he knew it would be disastrous to hold onto them all the way downstairs, so he watched as the two dogs bounded down the four flights, their leashes trailing behind them like second tails. Neal made his way down after them, keeping a tight hold on the railing with his eyes closed. He knew these stairs like the back of his hand and he was certain it would be safer to go down blind rather than risk his vision fading out and the dizziness returning.

In the front entryway he picked up the leashes again and the three of them made their way out into the cold, windy night. The street outside was brightly lit, warm orange coming from the windows of the neighbors’ homes and even a few façades decorated with multi-colored holiday lights. Neal smiled at the sight of them.

All of his life, for as long as he could remember, the holidays elicited in him a mixture of melancholy and delight. He loved the trappings, the Christmases trees, the lights, the music. He loved the idea behind the sentiment, family, friends and celebration, just as much. But, the reality of that sentiment had always presented a problem for him. His childhood Christmases had been far from merry most years with his mom being who she was and Neal himself missing his hero father. Most of his Christmases since had been spent alone, on the run, in prison or too involved in planning his next big con to get any real enjoyment from the season. Maybe now that he was with El and Peter things would be different, better.

The brisk air felt refreshing and Neal breathed deeply in through his nose, glad for anything that made him feel a little less ill.

He walked the dogs to the far corner after they had completed their business and then they returned to the mansion. Neal held onto Bugsy's leash on the way back up the stairs. He was afraid the pug would wander off in search of June and be lost somewhere in the vastness of the house if he let him go.

After the effort required to climb just the first flight Neal felt the small spark of rejuvenation he had experienced outside in the crisp evening air abandon him. He held onto the railing on the landing and took a moment to rest, his head pounding and his stomach aching fiercely. By the time he made it up to the third floor landing, Neal needed to sink down and sit, even though he was honestly worried that he wouldn't be able to get up again. Bugsy whined and pranced around the landing anxious to keep moving, but Satchmo seemed to know that something was wrong and he laid down beside Neal resting his head on Neal's shaking thigh.

Neal took some comfort from Satchmo's attention, running his hand through the lab's soft fur. He stayed there on the landing for a good twenty minutes before he felt like he might make it up the rest of the steps. He stood slowly, supporting himself heavily on the railing and then took the last flight one step at a time until finally he was at his apartment door.

Inside he unleashed the dogs and stumbled back to his bed. Thoughts like change, drink something, take some medication, call for help, bumbled around in his brain. But, he couldn't turn his thoughts into actions. He didn't have the energy or the will. He made it to the bed and fell onto it with a moan of pain and distress.

He thought about calling Peter and El for help once he was horizontal, but then he remembered that they were in Illinois, a plane ride away. They couldn't help him and he didn't want to ruin their holiday. It was just a stomach bug. He just needed to sleep. He would be fine by the time they came home, if he just slept.

"Neal, I came to get the other bottle of that South African Stellenbosch. Sally and I are planning a little Christmas Eve celebration later." Mozzie entered Neal's apartment in his usual way, without knocking and headed directly toward the wine rack.

He turned when he heard a set of small paws skittering across the hardwood floor to see Bugsy barreling toward him. "Hey Benjamin Siegelbaum, where is your temporary master?"

Bugsy jumped furiously against his leg and whined in response, which Mozzie found curious. The pug could be a bit high strung at times, but not usually to this extent. Satchmo ambled over next and pushed his head under Moz's hand to try to steal his attention away from Bugsy.

That was when Mozzie realized that something was most certainly amiss. He trained his eyes around the apartment and spied Neal curled in a ball on top of the bed still wearing his wool coat and his shoes. "Neal?" Mozzie exclaimed as he bee lined past the dogs to the bed.

Neal didn’t move or make a sound in response. But when Mozzie reached the bed he could hear Neal’s breathing, too fast and too shallow. “Neal?” He bid again, hoping for some response.

Still nothing. Mozzie placed his hand on Neal’s shoulder, shaking gently. If Neal had merely been asleep, even deeply asleep, he would have responded to being touched. Carefully, Mozzie pulled his friend over so that he was lying on his back and felt his forehead. Too warm. Then he dug under the cuff of Neal’s coat and checked the younger man’s pulse. Too fast and thready.

Mozzie quickly considered the options before him; call for an ambulance, try to get Neal help on his own, call for an ambulance, call one of the demi-suits, call for an ambulance. With a sense of conviction, Mozzie pulled out his emergency burner and dialed 911.

Twenty minutes later, the EMTs had a semi-conscious Neal loaded onto a stretcher and were on their way down the grand staircase to rush him to Lennox Hill. Mozzie planned to meet them there after he fed and walked the dogs. He was just turning away from Neal’s bed to the kitchenette when he heard the sound of a phone ringing. He groped around under the covers until he found Neal’s cell. Peter Burke, the screen read.

Mozzie debated for just a moment and then answered it. “Suit.”

“Mozzie? Where’s Neal?” Peter asked.

Mozzie sighed heavily. “On his way to Lennox Hill. I found him unconscious half an hour ago.”

“What? What happened?”

“I have no idea. I just happened to stop by to pick up a bottle of wine.” Mozzie was silent for a moment, considering how thankful he was that he just happened to stop by. “He's sick. I think he’s very sick.”

Mozzie could feel Peter’s tension and fear across the miles through the phone line. “We’re coming. We’ll catch the first flight back that we can. Mozzie, can you go to the hospital, please. I don’t want him to be alone.”

“He won’t be.”

“Thank you, Moz.”

It took Peter and Elizabeth a torturous five hours to pack, drive to the airport, get on a flight and get back to New York. As soon as their flight touched down on the runway, Peter had his phone out and powered up. Mozzie had texted them while they were somewhere over Ohio. “Diagnosis – bad virus, serious dehydration, will be fine.”

Peter hadn’t realized that his hand was shaking as he held the phone until he started to type a reply.
“Just landed. Will be there in an hour.”

Just as the plane pulled up to the gate Peter’s phone buzzed. “Room 316.”

Peter hadn’t counted on Christmas Eve traffic, so the drive to the hospital took almost two hours. It was nearly 8:30 in the evening by the time they turned into the parking garage. Peter pulled into the first open spot he found and they made their way quickly into the building and up to room 316.

Neal was lying semi-upright in the bed, a hospital gown covering his torso. IV lines led into the backs of both of his hands. Neal’s face was grey against the white linens, but he seemed to be sleeping peacefully when Peter and El entered his room. Mozzie was sitting in a chair next to the bed, his arms folded across his chest.

“Moz, how is he?” Peter whispered anxiously.

“Better. He’s stable. They want to keep him overnight so he can suck up more fluids and antivirals.”

Peter nodded and moved around Mozzie’s chair to stand next to Neal. El went to his other side and immediately ran her hand through his hair, brushing his forelock away from his face.

“Do you have any idea what happened?” Peter asked, turning back to Moz.

“He’s hasn’t been awake much. But from what I gather he started feeling sick late yesterday morning. It got bad fast apparently. His doctor thinks he went more than 36 hours without drinking anything and between that and the virus itself, he got knocked for a loop.”

Peter sighed and turned back to his partner. “Why didn’t you say something when we called?” He asked softly, not expecting an answer and not wanting to wake Neal.

Neal shifted in his sleep and moaned softly.

El shushed him tenderly, still running her fingers gently through his hair. He settled into her touch, turning his head toward her.

“I’m going to go back to Neal’s place and take care of Bugsy and Satchmo,” Mozzie said as he rose from his seat and started toward the door.

“Mozzie,” Peter called after him.

Mozzie turned and looked back at Peter.

“Thank you. If you hadn’t found him, and hadn’t gotten him help…”

Mozzie nodded. “I’ll bring Satchmo back out to Brooklyn tomorrow afternoon.” He turned back then and left Peter and El alone with their lover.

When Neal woke it was late. It was pitch dark outside the window and only a single light glowed softly from above him. He felt heavy and weird. His stomach and his head still ached, though less so than they had earlier. He wet his chapped lips and sighed wishing for a glass of water.

There was movement next to him and Neal turned his head, expecting to see Mozzie sitting beside his bed. But it wasn’t Moz. Neal blinked to make sure the fever he was still running wasn’t messing with his head.

“Hey buddy, how are you feeling?” Peter asked.

“Peter? What are you doing here?”

Neal caught movement from the other side of his bed out of the corner of his eye. Then a small, warm hand brushed gently through his hair.

“Hey sweetie,” El whispered.

“El, you’re here,” he said, his voice laced with surprise.

“Of course I am.”

“But, your family. You were with them.”

“Neal,” Peter said reaching over the bed rail to take Neal’s hand carefully in his, “You’re our family.”

Neal blinked, tears welling in his eyes.

Peter saw the emotion plainly on his partner’s face and gave Neal’s hand a light squeeze. “We love you.”

“I love you both too and I’m really glad you’re here,” Neal replied around the lump that had grown in his throat.

El leaned over and kissed his forehead and Peter smiled at him in a way that made Neal’s heart skip a beat.

“You should go back to sleep. You need to rest so that you can get discharged tomorrow.”

Neal nodded. “Can I have some water first?”

“Of course,” Peter replied. He let go of Neal’s hand and then poured water into a cup from the pitcher on the nightstand. He passed the cup to Neal. “Go slow, okay.”

Neal nodded and then sipped at the water. It was cool and sweet and Neal savored every drop. When he’d had as much as he thought his stomach could handle he passed the cup back to Peter. “Thanks.”

"You’re welcome. Get some sleep.”

“’kay,” Neal replied as his eyes slid closed.

“Merry Christmas, buddy.” Peter murmured in Neal’s ear just before kissing him on the temple.

“Merry Christmas,” Neal mumbled as he sank back into sleep.

Late the next morning after a series of stern lectures from Neal's doctor, he was finally discharged and Peter and El took him out to Brooklyn.

Peter helped Neal into the house with a hand on his elbow and settled him down on the couch. Then he moved across the living room and turned the lights of the Christmas tree on, illuminating the room in a warm, yellow glow.

Neal lay down with a heavy sigh and pulled one of the thrown pillows into his arms. A moment later El was there, gently laying a blanket over him. Then she sat in the space beside his bent knees and ran a hand soothingly up and down his upturned thigh.

"Do you need anything, sweetie?"

Neal shook his head and smiled up at her. "I have everything I could ever possibly need right here."

His lovers smiled back at him and Peter moved over to the sofa. He took a seat on the coffee table and cupped his hand around Neal's head.

Neal never felt more loved, more cared for than he did in that moment.

New Year's Eve morning dawned clear and bright, perfect weather for an outing.

Peter and Elizabeth bundled a mostly-recovered Neal up tight and refused to tell him where they were taking him as they settled him into the BMW. They drove into midtown and Peter pulled into a parking garage just off Fifth Avenue on 48th.

“Will you tell me where we’re going now?” Neal asked as Peter found a space and pulled in.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Peter replied with a smirk.

Neal sighed, knowing he had little choice in the matter and honestly happy to let his lovers take the lead. Despite how awful it had been to be so sick, Neal had very much appreciated Peter and El’s concern and attentiveness.

So he let Peter and El guide him out of the garage and up to Fifth and then uptown toward Rockefeller Center. When they stopped at the top of the concourse and turned toward the Christmas tree, Neal felt a rush of warmth fill him.

He turned to Peter and asked, “How did you know?”

Peter raised an eyebrow and then glanced down toward Neal’s feet. “You do remember how that piece of jewelry on your ankle works, right?” Peter sobered and wrapped an arm around Neal’s waist. “You’ve come here every year, just before Christmas. We know it’s a little late, but we thought we could share the experience with you this year.”

Neal nodded. “I would like that very much.”

El took his hand in hers and Peter kept his arm around Neal’s waist as they ambled down the concourse toward the tree that now held both sweet memories of the past and a joyful hope for the future.

elrhiarhodanelrhiarhodan on December 22nd, 2014 09:23 pm (UTC)

And AWWWW!!!!!!!!!!

It might be an oldie, but it's one of my all-time favorite WC HC tropes, and this will be one of my favorite renditions of it.

Thank you!!!!!!!!!
pooh_collectorpooh_collector on December 26th, 2014 04:38 pm (UTC)
You're welcome!

I'm so glad you liked it. I feel like I'm becoming the queen of melancholic Christmas fic, LOL.
kanarek13kanarek13 on December 22nd, 2014 09:34 pm (UTC)
D'awwwwwwwwww... oh, Neal. You should know by now that Peter and El will always want to be there for you, especially when you need help *smishes him*

And wow, that was scary, especially with Neal collapsing on the bed in his clothes. Thank God Mozzie found him. But what a lovely, perfect ending with all of them getting to spend the Holidays together. Love the bit in the hospital with El carding her fingers through Neal hair and Neal leaning into the touch (I feel like I got another mini-fill for my second manip, heeee :D)

Love it \o/ So very, very much \o/
pooh_collectorpooh_collector on December 26th, 2014 04:41 pm (UTC)
Thank you!

I had already written that scene with El when you posted your manip. And, I was all like, BRAIN TWINS!

You should know that it was your cover art that got the short scene in the Burke's living room added to this story. I just had to after I saw it.
scarym1scarym1 on December 23rd, 2014 12:31 am (UTC)
Poor Neal!!! I love this line - "Neal,” Peter said reaching over the bed rail to take Neal’s hand carefully in his, “You’re our family.”

pooh_collectorpooh_collector on December 26th, 2014 04:44 pm (UTC)
Thank you scary!

I kind of love that line too and the idea of the three of them as a family.
eldorah: Neal H/Celdorah on December 23rd, 2014 03:23 am (UTC)
D'awww, this was lovely. There's was something so beautifully tragic about the beginning, with Neal's nostalgia about Christmastime, his lone ritual at Rockefeller, and him lighting the candles in remembrance of Kate, Ellen, and Rebecca. I am so glad Mozzie can't stay away from Neal's wine collection for too long though, so that he was able to find him!

Thanks so much for sharing this! :)
pooh_collectorpooh_collector on December 26th, 2014 04:46 pm (UTC)
You're welcome.

I'm really glad you enjoyed it. I think that Christmastime is very nostalgic for many people, and I really think that Neal would fit into that category with the life he has lived thus far.

pipiljpipilj on December 23rd, 2014 08:44 am (UTC)
Aww this was lovely
pooh_collectorpooh_collector on December 26th, 2014 04:46 pm (UTC)
Thank you pipi!
Stacysahiya on December 24th, 2014 06:12 am (UTC)
Oh man, this was everything I'd hoped for and more with this prompt. Poor Neal, getting sick so suddenly. Thank goodness for Mozzie! And then I loved the sweet comfort at the end, with El and Peter. Thank you so much! Happy Holidays!
pooh_collectorpooh_collector on December 26th, 2014 04:47 pm (UTC)
Yay! I'm so glad you enjoyed it. I couldn't pass up your prompt. A sick!Neal makes for a happy bear.

Happy Holiday to you to!
doctor_fangeek: Vital Signsdoctor_fangeek on December 27th, 2014 02:43 am (UTC)
Classics are classics for a reason, right? :-)

Poor Neal, really getting hammered by how quickly things got so bad. And I love Neal asking Peter how he knows about Rockefeller Center, and Peter's all, 'Anklet?' And El brushing back that errant lock of hair - aww.

pooh_collectorpooh_collector on December 28th, 2014 02:44 am (UTC)
Thanks doc!

You hit all my favorite bits in this story too! Great minds and all!
riverotter1951: north American river otterriverotter1951 on December 29th, 2014 03:32 pm (UTC)
This was great. I enjoyed seeing how much Peter and El care for Neal. The scene with the three of them visiting Rockefeller Center and creating a new family tradition is priceless.
pooh_collectorpooh_collector on December 31st, 2014 04:45 pm (UTC)
Thank you!

I adore the idea of them as a family. And, of El and Peter pouring their concern and love on Neal who clearly didn't have enough of that growing up.


text:
Interview: Misty Upham — Frozen River Less Scary Than Hollywood

Sometimes when I talk to someone who doesn’t work in the entertainment industry, I find they have this notion that being an actor is all glamorous and exciting, that actors make tons of money, live in mansions and have lackeys on call 24/7 to fetch nonfat, decaf, sugar-free iced mochas and book massages. Well, maybe if you’re Jennifer Aniston.

But for most, it’s a much more difficult road. Misty Upham starred with Melissa Leo in one of last year’s best films, Frozen River, and was nominated for an Independent Spirit Award as best supporting actress. But in this e-mail interview I did with her, it’s obvious her life isn’t all about the limelight and limos. She remains grounded and is delightfully candid about her experience thus far in Hollywood. After reading this, I challenge anyone to still think an actor’s existence is always easy or pampered. It takes guts to pursue this life and I think Upham’s got it in spades.

frozen-river08-12-01-mePCN: What was scarier–going across that icy river in the movie or coming to L.A. on your own?

MU: Definitely moving to L.A. on my own. I had to do a lot of things for the first time. I have a lot of quirks, fear of walking across crosswalks, for instance. My family nicknamed me Monk. The river is a piece of cake. I trust nature.

PCN: I read that you rent a room in Melissa Leo’s house. How has she helped you navigate Hollywood?

MU: I did rent a room, but I’ve recently moved in with my boyfriend. She did help me a bit, but Melissa’s very much about people taking care of themselves and finding their own way. She did as much as anyone would but it ultimately was up to me.

PCN: Most actors, when they get a big break, they immediately quit their day job. Why have you kept yours at the diner/laundromat?

MU: Because the money from Frozen River was just enough to pay my car payment and my phone and have some left over for groceries. That was over two years ago. I have recently moved on from that job as well, though. Lots of changes. But I kept it for so long because my boss supported my career and worked with my schedule. She bent over backwards for my comfort. But recently it’s finally come to that point of being in a place where I have to ask myself, “Am I really going to go for this? Or is it going to continue being a dream?” I’ve decided to make this dream come true. And this year has been life-changing to say the least. The opportunities I’ve been offered have given me the confidence to leap without looking.

PCN: Do patrons ever recognize you? How do they feel having an Indie Spirit Award nominee handling their underwear?

MU: Patrons did recognize me, but mostly from [KABC’s] George [Pennachio]’s news piece. Folks couldn’t care less that I was nominated against Penelope Cruz at the Indies, or that I went to the Oscars. They just wanted to know if George Pennachio was as nice in person! Towards the end I was getting a lot more looks and whispers and had a few people recognize me from screenings. It was getting a bit weird. And any fluff and fold worker will tell you that people don’t give a shit about bringing in their dirty undies. I’ve seen it all. Yuck!

PCN: You have two kinds of jobs–one sometimes includes scrubbing toilets and the other is making movies. Any similarities between the two?

MU: Yes. Both include lots of shit and tears! Just kidding. Both require you to humiliate yourself in a way. I think the best actors are the ones that have no shame. The ones that forget about their cellulite and just give a good nude scene. Picking my customer’s pubes off the toilet seat was very humilating, but not as humiliating as being yelled and snapped at by my co-stars in front of the entire crew. I’d wear those rubba gloves any day!

mistyPCN: I read an early draft of the Frozen River script and Lila was described as having long hair, which is the stereotypical image for Native American women. Whose idea was it for you to have short hair in the movie?

MU: I kind of shaved my head, then told [writer/director] Courtney [Hunt]. And it just worked. A bit of scare there, but she stuck by me. Glad to get rid of the stereotype long hair. Sick of it in actuality.

PCN: What Native stereotypes in movies annoy you so much you just want to pull your hair out?

MU: The broken English. I studied Oxford English books for fun when I was sixteen, so it annoys me beyond belief to see every script with ghetto talk. Yeah, some people talk like that but a lot of people don’t. I’m sick of saying things like “usedta-could.” Then there’s the “rez uniform.” Ripped, ’80s mom jeans, flannel shirt…need I say more?

And the number one most annoying is the non-Native Native factor. We saw it in Dances With Wolves, Last of the Mohicans, Last Of The Dogmen, etc. Non-Native person finds the Indians, gets adopted, becomes the best hunter/warrior, learns the language fluently (meanwhile the Indians are still struggling with “hello” and “buffalo”) and then there just so happens to be another non-Native person there, which makes it perfect that they hook up and live happily ever after. It’s still taboo to fall in love with an Indian.

PCN: What would be your dream part and which actor(s) would it be opposite?

MU: I would love to play lovesick loser or a sexy bitch. And I would give my right boob to work with Tilda Swinton, Adrien Brody, Helen Mirren, Seth Rogen, Emily Watson, Woody Allen and James McAvoy. And just for kicks and giggles: Matisyahu. He’s Kosher-sexy!

PCN: You recently went to the Oscars. What was your favorite experience there? Favorite person you met?

MU: Probably laughing with Mickey Rooney about how he and his wife fell into the paparazzi hedge by the E! camera. Or chatting with Josh “W.” Brolin before getting champagne fuzzies. But as usual Anne Hathaway was a class act. So nice and so down to earth despite the fact that the entire room wants to ravage her. She always takes the time to say hi and she remembers my name. And my mom’s. She’s the best.

PCN: The question covers anything that happened at after-parties.

MU: Well, I can’t tell you any of that good stuff or I’d never be invited back again! But I can tell you that I was drunk and stumbling down the stairs when John Singleton chased me down to tell me how much he loved our movie and seeing that we were both nerds who didn’t carry cards or pen and paper, made me promise to Facebook him. That was awesome, what I can remember of it anyway…

PCN: Did your manager at the diner/laundromat really write you up for not working Oscars weekend?

MU: They threatened to, but only so the other workers would stop complaining about covering me.

PCN: When you were growing up on the reservation, if someone had said you’d grow up to be a Spirit Award-nominated, red-carpet-walking, Europe-traveling, Alps-skiing girl with Tarantino as a fan, how would you have responded?

MU: And at what age did I sell my soul to the devil?

PCN: What’s next for you?

MU: The L.A. audition trail. Talk about crazy and dangerous. I’m ready for the ego-beating, snuffy attitudes and toffee-nosed receptionists. Let’s be insecure together! 🙂

12 responses to “Interview: Misty Upham — Frozen River Less Scary Than Hollywood

  1. Mmhmm…you tell it. girl. Whoever said life in this town is easy has never really tried working here! Fantastic interview, chica…Upham sounds like a really cool, totally down-to-earth actress. I think I’m in love… 🙂

  2. Thank you for the terrific Misty Upham interview! Her performance in “Frozen River” was no less than brilliant! That, and “Tell No One” were by far my favorite movie experiences of this past year.

    By the way, Harlan Coben will make appearances on Glenn Beck’s, and The Sean Hannity Show this week.

  3. I believe every word of this interview. Sadly, the really talented people too often get overlooked in this industry in favor of reality show contestants with sex tapes. Based on her performance in Frozen River, Misty may be one of the few to rise above it.

  4. Upham seems like that rare “nice person” you hear about in Hollywood. I wish her all the luck in the world.

  5. She reminds me of where America Ferrera was not all that long ago.

  6. Let’s face it, guys in Hollywood can be unconventional looking, but the public wants their leading ladies hot and usually white. It’s not fair, but it’s not new.

    • I hear you, Scriptpimp, but that attitude is changing. How else do you explain Misty’s nomination or even Melissa Leo’s for that matter? Or the fact that a small movie like Frozen River, without a single recognizable star besides Michael O’Keefe in a tiny part, got at far as it did? Or Slumdog Millionaire (without any stars) wins an Oscar?

      Hang in there, Misty!

  7. What a down-to-earth interview ~ thanks, PCN and Misty! It’s a great reminder that no matter what career you’re in, and especially the creative ones, to keep doing what you love, no matter what, and not to sweat the small stuff.

  8. I am so glad that you did a write-up on Misty…. I was so touched by her performance in FROZEN RIVER. She had so many layers. Initally, “Lila” possessed a cold, icy, self-serving exterior. As her character developed, we (as the audience) discover that she is really a vulnerable young mom that just wanted to buy her baby a new crib….. There were so many non-verbal nuances in her portrayal that took the written text to the next level. Way to go, Misty!

  9. Nice to see an interview with Misty. I enjoyed her performance in Frozen River.

    • popculturenerd

      Thanks, Charles. I enjoyed Misty’s work in that, too. I also love how refreshingly candid she was in this interview.

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Event Calendar

Download as iCal file
Sirens Pub: Porchdog Blues
Friday, December 29, 2017, 09:00pm

9pm $5

Swampy Blues Rock Band. Digging deep into the blues genre from the 70s with strong vocals, heavy grooves, stellar guitar work & Butterfield'esque harmonica.

Location Sirens Pub, 823 Water St, Port Townsend, WA, 98368
Open at noon every day (21 and over).
Contact 360-379-1100, sirenspt@gmail.com
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Snail's Postcard Post

Alice’s Haus

IMG_7518Aren’t estate sales strange? You see a stranger’s home and most of her possessions, and start to piece together a story of this person’s life, but normally without ever seeing the owner herself.

I came across an estate sale last weekend. It was at house I’d passed a hundred times, but had never been inside; I didn’t know the owner. I found myself approaching the sale with a sense of respect, completely different than the glee I feel when there’s a casual sale in someone’s yard or garage. Yard sales feel like treasure hunts to me, and this is encouraged by the hosts who are eager to get rid of their things, whether they’re planning to move or just spring cleaning. But at estate sales, the looming question is, Who died? The home is usually that of an older person. In many cases, the owner is still with us, but moving to an assisted living home. Even so, the selling of most of his belongings doesn’t feel entirely consensual; He didn’t plan on strangers going through his house and buying up his things.

At the estate sale last weekend, I started out looking through books in the driveway and garage. There were beautiful antique volumes, including ones for children with darling illustrations. I guessed the owner was an elderly woman. I was tempted to buy one or two of the children’s books, but they were in German. Was the owner German? Did she have children with whom she shared these books from her homeland? Had the children, now grown, organized the sale? I thought of the anxiety-filled summer I helped Mama Snail empty Grandma Snail’s shell of 50 years.

Inside, there was a woman managing each room–perhaps one of them was the owner’s daughter, or several of them. A cluster of neighbors were checking out the view, admiring the house from a real estate perspective that didn’t sit well with me. I moved downstairs. There were two women managing things down there, and a man perusing like me. One of the women had an accent I couldn’t place. When she left the room, the man asked the other woman, “I take it she’s the daughter?”
“The caretaker,” she replied.
As for herself and the other women, they were estate sale professionals.

I was digging through a pile of fabric and yarn by a sliding glass door, when an orange and white cat appeared on the other side. He started pawing at the glass and meowing for me to let him in. I wished I could explain why I couldn’t. There was another cat with a cone around its neck. Where were they going to live now?

I moved on to a bookshelf on the other side of the room, and pulled out a floral patterned photo album. Maybe this would tell me more about the woman who had lived here. Instead of photos, the album was full of postcards! They all seemed to be from Switzerland. The woman must be (have been?) Swiss. There was even a letter of several pages, stuffed inside an air mail envelope and taped to a page of the album. I wanted to read it but it was in German.

Despite my love of postcards, I didn’t need a whole album of the Alps, and had no desire to pick the album apart for just the cards I liked. Someone had taken time putting this together. Was it to remind her of her home?

Fortunately, I found a container of individual Swiss postcards, and selected the ones I liked from there. As well as the fox above, I chose three postcards with views from near the village of Adelboden in the Bernese Oberland.

In the map above, the red outlines the border of Switzerland, and the green marks the region of the Bernese Oberland.

The map below zeroes in on the Bernese Oberland, showing Adelboden in the south:carte_be

Lower cascade of Engstligen Falls. Consisting of two cascades, Engstligen is the second tallest waterfall in Switzerland, measuring 1,169 feet.

IMG_7516The Hörnliweg alps Tierhörnli, Steghorn (10,322′ elev.) and Wildstrubel (10,640′)IMG_7517

Apparently near a river called the Fluhweid with a view of the alps Steghorn, Wildstrubel and Fitzer

I called a writer friend who lives near the house with the estate sale, and who speaks German. She didn’t answer, so I left a message telling her to check out the beautiful books there. In her message back, she said with a note of sadness, “I knew Alice.”

I adopted three more postcards from Alice’s collection, a series, which I will share next time.

This entry was published on March 12, 2014 at 8:54 pm. It’s filed under Europe and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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Kick off the Holidays at Christmas on the Brazos

Begin the holiday season by spending special time at Washington on the Brazos for Christmas on the Brazos on December 10. Activities commence in the early afternoon and extend into the evening, bringing a sense of the holiday spirit alive for all:

• An Afternoon with Dickens, 1 p.m. and 3 p.m. – Independence Hall: Staff dressed in period clothing will be regaling visitors with tales of Olde Time Christmas as told by the great author, Charles Dickens!

• Christmas Lore and Traditions, 4 p.m. – Independence Hall: History is not only about battles, dates and names but also touches on the special times in peoples’ lives, and Christmas is one of those very special times! With this program we discover how people embraced the holy day in the early Texas.

• The Star of the Republic Museum will host “make-and-take” period crafts from 11 a.m. to 3 p.m. Regular admission fees apply; no charge for the crafts. Museum open during regular hours from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m.

• The site’s Visitor Center and Washington Emporium Gift Shop will be open from 9:30 a.m. to 7 p.m. and will feature merchandise from Texas artisans, tastings and samplings of some local fare, family friendly activities, and self-serve photo opportunities with Santa.

• Barrington Living History Farm will be open from noon until 3 p.m. and then will reopen for its Candlelight Christmas event that starts at 5:30 p.m. and lasts until 9 p.m. (with the last tour leaving at 8 p.m.). Regular admission fees will apply.

• Candlelight Christmas, 5:30 p.m. – Barrington Farm: Program offered at timed intervals with last ticket sold at 8 p.m. Celebrate an 1850s Christmas. Meet St. Nick; fall in with some noisy, rowdy revelers; experience the Jones family lighting the Christmas tree and singing carols; attend an evening service with a traveling minister; and discover how the enslaved people celebrated Christmas. Allow at least one hour to complete the full experience. Groups will enter the site at timed intervals. Reservations are highly recommended and will be accepted starting October 1. Contact: Bruce Wardlow at 936-878-2214 ext. 246 or

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