#from Friday afternoon until Sunday night it was just a continuous parade of people coming and going from the farm

[deepwoundsandfadedscars]

The amount of times I have had a thought to send to my sister and remembered she will never get it 😭

#kee speaks #we went to the funeral home yesterday and it felt so surreal #mom shared the note my sister left with me and my brother so we know what her mindset was like and her reasoning #but it hurts that she never voiced it to us when we could've reassured her #she parked her truck in one of our farming fields behind a row of thick bushes so the truck wasn't visible from the road #you wouldn't know a truck could make it there unless you've been in that field before like we have #but it's right next to a dammed lake and that's where my brother in law proposed to her and only four days before their wedding anniversary #and then he was the one who found her #none of my family made it over there to be there with him #my dad tried but he blew the engine on his truck just a few miles from the farm; not even a quarter of the way to the field #i think that was a sign that he shouldn't have been there #but my brother in laws family all made it over there so he had his immediate family with him and my family was together at the farm #when the cops were done talking to him over there him and his family came to the farm #from Friday afternoon until Sunday night it was just a continuous parade of people coming and going from the farm #even yesterday evening a bunch of people stopped by #i don't think i have ever received so many hugs in a 72 hour period before #we've definitely deduced that my parents church will not be big enough for everyone if all that showed up at the farm plus more will be ther #we picked a day almost two weeks away for the funeral so that people can make arrangements to come #im so exhausted though #i keep crying over things that feel stupid to cry over #like she was the one who convinced me to read the Murderbot Diaries and the next book comes out in the next couple months #i wont get to talk to her about it #i was going to lend her my PS5 so she could play Jedi Survivor #on Saturday i kept crying over a pin that has been sitting on my mug shelf in the cupboard that was meant for her #i convinced myself to wait until Christmas and put it in her stocking #and now I feel bad that i didnt give it to her when i bought it cause maybe it would've brought her some joy

[mcwriting]

The Marriage Project (11)

I'm baaaaack :) Sorry it's been so long y'all but I'm finally on break so hopefully I can push out more content soon! Pls enjoy!

Masterlist

Word Count: 2130

Warnings: little bit of language, mild mentions of alcohol

% approximately the last weekend of October/first week of November %

Sunday, you went wedding dress shopping.

Kinda.

It was for homecoming court. Your school had a tradition where the ladies in the running for queen wore white wedding dresses, so your mom and you went out in search of one.

You’d already gotten your dress for the actual dance weeks prior, so you started at the same store.

It didn’t take long for you to stumble upon one you liked, a slim a-line that accentuated your muscles and curves. There was a draped neckline and a somewhat low back. The entire dress had a grecian feel with the small silver accents dusted across it.

The second you put it on you fell in love, so you made the purchase and set off for shoes, easily finding a pair of heels that would put you at a similar level with Tom.

The next day, you made your way to class for another round of praise and congratulations for the tournament that weekend. The trophy was already sitting in the school display case, the plaque yet to be made with your school’s name and the year.

It was spirit week, so everyone was dressed in clothes that fit the day’s theme.

All morning, people were coming up and asking you about the tournament and homecoming, many of them pledging to vote for you.

Things felt nice.

You and Tom didn’t talk much throughout the morning, but exchanged a few jabs and laughs here and there.

Later, you sat around the lunch table with your girlfriends as usual, this time discussing the homecoming nominations.

“Y/n, there’s literally no way you won’t be queen. I’ve talked to a ton of people and all of them are saying they’re gonna vote for you,” one of them said.

“Aw shucks, you’re making me blush. Obviously I’d like to win queen, but we’ll see. It’s whatever. If Harrison wins king I’ll drop out.”

“As if. No one even likes him. I’m pretty sure he was voted in as a meme. Everyone knows Tom is gonna win,” Alexis stated. “And if Tom wins, you’ll win too with everyone thinking you’re together.”

“Hmm. I honestly hope Tuwaine gets the vote. He’s so sweet and totally deserves it.”

“I think we all know you’d prefer Tom as your royal counterpart,” one friend suggested, causing you to roll your eyes.

“How many times do I have to tell you guys! Nothing is going on! On another note, though, I got my white dress,” you mentioned, trying to steer the conversation away.

“Really? Let us see!” Caroline exclaimed.

“Ah, ah, ah. I’m saving it as a surprise for Friday. The only person who’s seen it is my mom, and it’s staying that way until the parade.”

You continued talking about the upcoming festivities and your excitement for the week, and the announcement of who would be crowned queen Friday at the pep rally.

That afternoon, you went to study hall with Alexis. Now that you were between sports, you had a free period to go do art, work out, or just “study,” so you chose the latter as a way to take a breather from everything that had been going on.

“So tell me everything about Johnny’s this weekend. Loved the costumes,” you started as you plopped down at two desks in the very back of the room.

“Not much to report. We mostly just hung out but I heard one dude had to go get his stomach pumped or something after the cops got there. We dipped out before it was busted because it was obvious they were coming. Now how was your weekend, since we’re finally alone?”

You thought about how much you’d actually tell her, especially considering that you hadn’t told her really anything about yours and Tom’s interactions in past weeks.

“Pretty good. It was mostly just volleyball.”

“Oh yeah? What all went down with Tom? Anna told me you seemed pretty close.”

Your face burned.

“We hugged after winning the tournament. Not a big deal. Oh and we maybe kinda pretended to be a couple Friday night.”

“What? You didn’t think to lead with that?!”

“It was for like a minute while we went up the elevator. This drunk couple was harassing us so we just played along for a little bit. Whatever,” you shrugged.

“Did you do anything couple-y? Don’t tell me you guys kissed.”

You tried not to cringe before somewhat telling a lie.

“I kissed him on the cheek and he put his arm around me. I swear it was nothing serious, Lex.”

“Hm. I still think you’ve gotta be hiding something, but I just don’t know what. And I’m gonna get to the bottom of it.”

Good luck with that. I’m not about to crack yet.

%

Spirit week continued with people coming up to let you know their votes had been cast for you. The voting ended Thursday so that votes could be counted before the pep rally.

When Friday did hit, you woke up early and tucked your volleyball jersey into some jeans and tossed on your letter jacket, as the day’s theme was school colors and jerseys.

You popped on some mascara and lip gloss, then headed to school, becoming more nervous as you got closer.

The pep rally would be right after lunch, but almost everyone was so excited for the weekend festivities that teachers basically gave everyone a free day so that the students in charge of the event could continue their planning and the athletes could prepare for the rally.

The pep rally was mostly for the football game, but they were also going to recognize the volleyball team’s accomplishments, so you prepared for that and the whole homecoming court thing.

In home ec, Mrs. Flynn let those that needed to help set up for the pep rally eat your lunches in class and then leave early.

You and Tom finished about the same time and went to your lockers to grab your things.

“Ready to win?” Tom asked as you walked towards the gym.

“Nope. You?”

“Yeah, actually. Maybe it’s just because I love winning so much.”

You gave him a little shove as you continued walking. Tom had his jersey on without the pads, so it fit big on him. You admired the way it draped over his thin, toned frame.

A bit later and the pep rally had begun with the dance team doing their routine, then came athlete recognitions.

They started with the volleyball team, calling you all out to the basketball court to wave as everyone cheered. After you all, the cheer squad hyped everyone up for the football team to come out.

You stood in a corner of the gym with Zendaya, as they would be announcing the homecoming court next. You both talked a little bit, but things were somewhat awkward.

Finally came the time to announce the winners. As with nominations, things went in order from freshman to senior, eventually reaching the king and queen announcement. The six of you stepped out onto the basketball court, the pit in your stomach bigger than before.

“Alright ladies and gentlemen, I know that this is the moment you have all been waiting so patiently for!” Mrs. Johnson looked around the bleachers at the cheering students, holding up her paper with everyone’s positions.

“We’re going to start with our third place, the duke and duchess of homecoming! May I have a drumroll please!”

Everyone stomped their feet and clapped.

“This year’s duke is Mr. Harrison Osterfield, and the duchess is Daisy Ridley!”

Cheers went up, not completely enthusiastic for the pair. You felt a little bit of satisfaction knowing the people you liked least had gotten third place.

“Now for our runners up, the prince and princess!” She paused for effect. “Tuwaine Barrett and Zendaya Coleman!”

More cheers rang out than before. Your jaw dropped as you looked at Tom.

“And that means that your senior king and queen are Tom Holland and y/n y/l/n! Congratulations to all of you. Can’t wait to see you at the parade, game, and dance!” Mrs. Johnson called out, dismissing everyone back to class.

Someone came and placed the crown on your head and slipped a silver sash which read “homecoming queen” over your body. You couldn’t help but slap a hand over your mouth.

“What did I tell you! I knew you’d win!” Tom exclaimed, holding out his hands. You so badly wanted to hug him, but decided not to in front of the whole school, at least not until tomorrow night.

Your friends rushed up and congratulated you, fawning over the crown and sash and laughing. Before you left, you had to return the two items to a teacher so you would have them for later that night.

As you left school that afternoon, you felt like you were floating on air.

%

You were back at the school later that evening, the game just over a couple hours away. There were families lining the street prepared to watch the parade make its way down.

Since leaving the school before, you’d put your hair in loose curls and done a full face of makeup. You tossed on some sweats and zipped up your varsity jacket, taking your dress and shoes along in the car to change there.

You waited until the last minute to slip on the outfit, causing people to fawn over you when you stepped outside to see everyone who was waiting.

Someone pinned the crown to your head and helped you slip on the sash, then led you to the convertible where Tom was waiting. You’d get to ride around sitting on the back waving like you’d always dreamed of doing.

Your heels clacked on the sidewalk as you confidently stepped. Sure, you didn’t wear heels much, but you sure knew how to work them.

It felt like slow motion when Tom turned around and you saw each other for the first time. He was wearing slacks and a sport coat and his curls were perfectly placed around his own crown. You both gasped a little.

“Y/n! You look… you look like-”

“Let me guess. A princess?” you smirked, raising a brow.

“I was gonna say queen.”

You rolled your eyes and chuckled, giving him a little shove. He helped you climb into the back of the car, and someone went to hand you his letter jacket.

“What’s this for?” you asked.

“Usually if it’s cold the queen wears her partners’ letterman over her shoulders if he has one.”

You thought about it. It was pretty chilly, after all.

“You don’t have to wear mine, y/n. Did you bring yours?” Tom asked, making you smile.

“Yeah, actually. I did. Would someone mind going and grabbing it from my stuff? It’s just inside.”

One girl ran and brought it back in a few minutes, and Tom helped drape it over just your shoulders.

“That’s more like it,” he said, giving you a smile as he fixed the neck.

A few minutes later, the cars and floats began moving and families cheered as you passed, waving with a smile on your face.

You and Tom talked to each other quietly as you looked around both sides of the street. When you reached the end, someone had you pose for a couple pictures in the daylight before the football players headed off to get ready for the game.

This was not only homecoming, but senior night, so they all wanted to be on their A-game.

Different people came up to congratulate you and you took pictures with friends, family, and even a few little kids. You were talking with the girls when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

You turned around to find the Holland family, including Nikki’s parents and a woman you assumed to be Dominic’s mom.

“Well I sure am glad to see that people have some decent sense around here,” Grandma said, giving you a warm smile. You gave her a hug then greeted the rest of the family.

“You look beautiful, dear. Congratulations,” said Nikki as she gave you a squeeze.

“Oh, y/n, this is my mother,” Dom explained, gesturing to another elderly woman.

“Just call me Nana, dear. I’ve heard a lot about you.” You smiled as she held your hands in hers.

“Thank you! Tom’s told me about you, too.”

Nikki shot some pictures of you with their family. It felt weird to be in their photos without Tom, but also comfortable, like you’d known them your whole life. You had to hold back a laugh when you took one kissing Paddy’s cheek and making him blush.

Eventually your parents also came over and talked to them, and everyone made their ways to the stadium.

%

A/N: omg it's been way too long since I updated TMP! I just wanted to pre-warn that next chapter will have the heaviest themes of this story. It will have adequate warnings but I want to make everyone aware!

Thanks for reading!

Send a message or ask if you’d like to be added to my permanent or series taglists so I can verify you’ve been added!

Story tag list: @jackiehollanderr, @one-big-fangirl, @l0lmk, @primadonnasdream, @bookworm06, @thenoddingbunny-blog, @agentnataliahofferson, @spider-babe, @stxfxniexreads, @justafangirlduh, @supraveng

#the marriage project #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland imagine #tom holland au #tom holland series #tom holland fic

[malnatihq]

                     — 👻 HAUNTED HALLOWEEK: an event !!

the malnati: but make it spooky !! every year, the malnati’s spare no expense to create the most haunting hotel experience in the business, and of course, 2020 is no different !! LED lights are replaced with flickering candles ( flameless of course ), usually chic curtains are swapped out for velvet draperies, and don’t be alarmed - the old rotary phones will still work just as well as the iPads in your suites when you need to call down for a midnight snack !! dark lights shine against the building’s exterior && old timey music is played throughout the hotel, including the elevator on the off chance that it gets stuck. we’re told not to worry about that, though, they’ve been recently serviced ... enjoy live jazz music performances in the ballroom at dinner each night as we put on some extravagant events during the season !! you’ll find an itinerary of all the activities that you can participate in, or ones that you may be scheduled to work !! and speaking of our legendary malanati staff: please do pick up your vintage uniforms from the break room lockers so you match the aesthetic that’s been established during haunted halloweek !! it is sure to be a spook-tacular time as we welcome the ghost hunter convention guests, as well !! not to raise the hair on anyone’s neck but, it is rumored that the hotel is haunted, with supposed ghost encounters and sightings during this time of year, but do not be alarmed; there has not been a reported incident of any severity since 2006 ... or, not one that the malnatis are aware of at least ... either way !! sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite, and there’s nothing to fear if you hear a bump in the night !! ( note: the malnati has no reported bed bug cases ) happy halloween !!

this event is brought to you in collaboration with another dynamic duo: nikki & nika

                                    EXTENDED INFORMATION:

HAUNTED HALLOWEEK:

during this saturday-saturday week, the malnati will truly become a haunted hotel !! the decor changes alone will certainly be enough to transport you to an era where the tower of terror may not seem so ridiculous ... but you might even see something flash out of the corner of your eye, feel like there’s someone watching you from afar, hear a bump, creek && child’s laugh that you were sure wasn’t actually there ... anything is possible during this haunted halloweek !! staff schedules will be maintained, aside from wednesday where everyone will have the night off && guests are more than welcome to indulge in the many activities and events when they so please !! so whenever you have any time available - enjoy all of the spooky spectacles the malnati has to offer !! click to see the pinterest board that started it all

SATURDAY 10/24: welcome to the ghost hunter convention goers !! the hotel will be opening their week with an influx of ghost hunters, and with that, their knowledge and equipment !! so if you see them around the hotel investigating ... join them if you’d like, but don’t be alarmed !!

SUNDAY 10/25: the malnati presents: a pop-up escape room !! set up in the courtyard is a classic halloween movie inspired escape room, so grab a group of pals and wait in line to try your hand at the few available rooms !!

MONDAY 10/26: during the afternoon, there will be a halloween parade throughout the streets of chicago that you’re encouraged to experience !! in the evening at the hotel’s premiere restaurant, Mal’s, there will be some potion making classes where you can craft the perfect drink that’ll bewitch whoever gives it a sip !!

TUESDAY 10/27: get ready for a night filled with magic !! there will be a show put on in the ballroom that will certainly stun even the most skeptical of people ... the magicians are looking for volunteers as well, so contact the media blog to sign up !!

WEDNESDAY 10/28: throughout the afternoon, there will be tarot card readings available in the lounge !! but in the evening, there is going to be a haunted hotel scavenger hunt ... and more details about this will come later - it’s going to be a very fun && interactive experience like you’ve never seen before !!

THURSDAY 10/29: the halloween masquerade ball is tonight !! to truly get into the spooky spirit, the malnati hotel is hosting the most exclusive event of the season !! wear whatever costume, gown or disguise you would like, especially masks, extravagant makeup, face paint - it’s all encouraged !! there will be a live band playing all of the haunted hits && you can dance the night away with a bubbling brew in hand !! so while this event is happening on thursday IRL, it will be happening on halloween in RP time !!

FRIDAY 10/30: go enjoy the halloween movie marathon at the chi-town drive in !! all snacks are to be provided free of charge thanks to Mal’s restaurant !! as well as any extra blankets or pillows that you may need - just call room service and our housekeeping staff will be right up !!

HALLOWEEN 10/31: and here is the big day we have all been waiting for !! there will be hotel suite trick-or-treating for those who wish to fill up their satin pillowcases with candy, or to pass it out to some of the adorable kiddos that come each year !! and do not forget that tonight is the last one to submit any costume or pet costume contest submissions !!

THINGS TO DO:

while this event is happening in real time, and this is not an au, there is still an element that we need your help deciding for you muses !! as noted, there are guests staying at the hotel this week as they attend some ghost hunter conventions in chicago !! and considering the lore behind the hotel, there might be some sights to see at the malnati ... with this, we’ve got a couple of questions for you !! is your muse a believer, or do they thinks ghosts only exist in movies ?? and will they be doing any ghost hunting during this week ?? would you want to be one of the magic show volunteers ?? let us know on the main, because we may have a couple of follow up questions to ask you ...

and with many of our events, we’ve got a couple of contests going !! on halloween, our costume contest && pet costume contest will close, so be sure to post those onto the dash before then to enter into a raffle to win 25 points !!

where: this event is going to be held on the dash and you can write starters pertaining to anything whenever you’d like !! there will be a discord event that’ll be on thursday !! please post any open starters, text messages, snapchats, etc. in the starter tag ( malnatistarters ) !!

when: saturday october 24th until saturday october 31st !! this is a week long event irl and in rp time !!

discord event: THURSDAY 10/29 : HALLOWEEN MASQUERADE BALL !! : this event will take place on a separate discord server that we will be sending out the link to starting at 5:30 pm EST for those who would like to join !! all muses are invited to enjoy a night full of dancing, live performances, themed drinks including the blue brains slushees, and more surprises to come !! be sure to come dressed to the nines && share with everyone your incredible masquerade costumes !! this event will be happening on thursday IRL, but for the sake of the rp, the masquerade ball will happen on halloween night ( we just wanted to do it a lil early in case anyone did have halloween plans !! )

ooc: threads can be posted starting at midnight EST friday into saturday and we will end them on 11:59 pm EST on october 31st. event threads can be continued to finish them up after the 31st, but no new threads should be started. as always, you can do non-event threads during the weekend if you would like !! and you never have to participate in events or any au weeks that we do in the future ( not that this is an au but alksdjf ) if you would prefer not to !!

etc: anything related to the event such as social media posts, ootd, playlists, moodboards can be posted !! if you want to further your plots and character development, this will be the time to do so !! if anyone has any q’s, please direct them our way !!

#malnatievents

[collecting-stories]

Homecoming - Connor Murphy

A/N: It’s just more indulgent Connor fluff

Give me one last hope of holding water in my hands, give me one last chance and I’ll be your man. I’ll be Your Man, Passenger

\\\

Connor let out a loud yowl, surprising you enough that you fell off the couch. The theme song to CSI continued as Connor fell back against the couch cushions, laughing at you. “Oh my god,” he squeezed his eyes shut as they teared from laughing so hard.  

“It’s not funny.” You whined, laying yourself flat on the floor, feet brushing against his as you stretched out across the carpeted basement of the Murphy household. “You scared the crap out of me Connor.”

“Sorry,” he replied, still laughing. He laid the joint he had been smoking in the ashtray on the coffee table and laid himself across the couch so he could see you, his hair hanging down as he leaned over you. “It’s a catchy tune.”

“It’s not that catchy.” You huffed.  

Connor reached his hand out, one foot going on the ground as he pulled up to a sitting position. You got yourself the rest of the way up and climbed on the couch beside him, taking the joint from the ashtray.  

“Hey, that’s mine!” He smiled, grabbing at you, “you said you didn’t want one!”  

“Yeah that was before you fucking stressed me out.” You joked, moving down the couch so you were out of his reach.  

Saturday night was the designated weekly hangout for you and Connor that had been established during the summer of sixth grade and had not changed since then. You had only ever missed two Saturdays, once because it was your grandmother’s birthday and once because Zoe had a recital. Otherwise you were always together on a Saturday night. It was always chill, watching some stupid movie or marathoning as much of a show as you possibly could. His mom would come downstairs every two hours, pretending to check the washer/dryer or claiming she needed something from the back shed as she slipped out the sliding glass door. A couple times she even sent Zoe or Larry down though Connor’s dad could’ve cared less what his son was doing so long as he wasn’t doing anything destructive. Even Cynthia had stopped trying to say something about the weed.  

Connor nabbed the joint back from you with ease, leaning back against the other side of the couch as the crime show played on.  

“Are you going to homecoming next week?” You asked, clicking the subtitles on so you could follow along better.  

“You’re joking right?”  

Three homecoming dances had been spent in Connor’s basement playing video games and watching TV. Not to mention the eighth grade formal, freshman dance, sophomore prom, and junior prom. You had zero interest in ever going to any of those stupid dances but lately your mom had been bugging you about not “missing out on the high school experience”. That and Evan had asked if you would go with him to homecoming because he wanted to go to be more social this year. You were already planning on going with him and Jared to the football game on Friday and even agreed to walk in the parade with Alana. Not something you might normally do but you were trying to let loose a little and you had a dress hanging in your closet waiting for you. The only problem was you would have to break your standing date with Connor.  

“No, seriously,” you replied, “I was thinking about going.”

“Isn’t it on a Saturday?”

“It is.”  

You watched the way Connor’s jaw tightened and his fist clenched, sure signs that he was mad, though typically those were tells directed at other people, not you. But now he was pissed at you. He placed the joint in the ashtray and grabbed his phone off the coffee table, pausing the show. Just like that all the air seemed to dissipate out of the room.  

“Connor?”

“I can’t fucking believe you.” Connor said, “who’re you going with?”

“No one, I just, wanted to go.” You shrugged.  

“You just wanted to go? All the fucking sudden? How convenient.” He snapped.

“I don’t think it’s a big deal Connor, it’s just a dance. We can hang out after or something...on Sunday if you want?”

“Oh, are you sure? You might have some fucking party to go to!” He got off the couch, heading to the stairs as if he was going to leave his own basement.

“Connor.” When you called his name he turned and walked back over, the only thing separating him from you was the coffee table and you felt strangely thankful.  

“You’re a fucking shit friend you know that? You act like this is all so fucking important to you and ‘oh Connor we have to get together we never miss it’ but then you just fuck off to other plans. It’s okay to hang out with me as long as you don’t have a better fucking offer!”  

“That’s not true and you know it!”  

“Just get the fuck out of my house!” He shouted.  

“Are you serious?”

“Do I look like I’m fucking kidding?”

-

Connor didn’t speak to you for the rest of the week. Despite the multiple texts you sent him Sunday through to Friday afternoon you heard absolutely nothing from him. He avoided you in school, going out of his way not to sit by you. It was a new form of torture that you had never expected to experience. Connor had never been this mad at you before. Small arguments that were easily sorted through but never massive arguments that led to such a blatant cold shoulder. You wanted to be stubborn, to wait it out until he realized that he was the one in the wrong. He should be begging for forgiveness and groveling at your feet but the more time progressed the more you were afraid that he would never put his pride aside to admit that he was wrong.  

So on Saturday night, instead of getting dressed up to go to Homecoming with Zoe, Alana, Evan, and Jared you were at the Sheetz near your house, getting Connor’s favorite milkshake and a small bag full of candy. The Murphy house was dark aside from the living room. Cynthia was at the door almost immediately after you knocked.

“Not going to the dance tonight?” She asked, looking a little relieved to see you, obviously unaware of the blow-out that you and Connor had suffered the last time you were at their house.

“Too many people, maybe senior prom,” you replied, “is Connor home?”

“He’s in his room.”

You carried the goods up the stairs of the Murphy house hold, arriving at Connor’s closed bedroom door. You couldn’t hear anything but ever since Cynthia had gotten him those noise-cancelling headphones he never blared his music. A compromise between the two of them. When you opened the door the room was dark and as your eyes adjusted you could make out Connor laying in bed. He hadn’t moved so you suspected he had his eyes closed.  

You shut the door behind you and ran your hand along the wall, flicking the light on. “Connor?”

No answer.  

Nudging the end of the bed with your leg you tried again, “Connor?” You repeated.  

His eyes opened slowly, his face already annoyed though it changed to surprise rather quickly as he scrambled to sit up, ripping his headphones off and tossing them down on the bed. “What are you doing here?” He clicked on his phone, checking the time.  

“It’s movie night.” You shrugged, holding out the milkshake for him to take.

“Yeah but...”

“You are always my first choice Connor. I’m sorry I made you feel like that wasn’t true. But even though I’m here right now that doesn’t mean you’re forgiven. You treated me like shit.”

“I was just pissed.” He replied, sipping at the shake.

“It’s not an excuse for the way you talked to me. I’m here because I love you and I needed to make sure you understood that. That you’ll always come first. But next time you talk to me like that no milkshakes and apologies okay?”

A ghost of a smile appeared on Connor’s face and he nodded. “Okay.”

“CSI?” You asked, biting on your lower lip, suddenly nervous as you stood in his room coming down from the adrenaline high you’d worked up to confront him.  

“Yeah,” he stood up but before you could start walking out of the room he wrapped his arm around you shoulders and pulled you close, kissing your forehead. “I’m a little bummed you didn’t come over in your dress.”

“Don’t push your luck Murphy!”  

-

In which Emily writes whatever she wants. 

#Connor murphy x reader #Connor murphy imagine #Connor murphy fanfic #Connor Murphy fanfiction #Connor Murphy au #deh fanfiction #deh imagine #deh fanfic #deh au #dear Evan Hansen imagine #dear Evan hansen fanfiction #dear Evan hansen fanfic #dear Evan hansen au #collecting stories imagine #cs discography series

[whatsupsac]

What’s Up With Your Weekend, 9/29/17-10/1/17:

Friday:

Banned Books Week: The top 5 most challenged books from 2016 were all challenged for their LGBTQ content, and all happened to be children's books. In recognition of national Banned Book Week (Sept 24-30) we'll spend time with an LGBTQ children's book author from our own community here in Sacramento, Dr. Gayle Pitman, to disucss some of her books and the two times people have attempted to ban her book "This Day in June"--a children's book about pride parades. The most recent attempt involved a library in Chicago and happened just this year. We'll sit down with Dr. Pitman to discuss censorship, the politics of libraries, and the importance of LGBTQ children's literature. There will be some light snacks and refreshments.Street parking is free after 6pm, as well as limited free parking in the small parking lot for the building. Lavender Library, Archives and Cultural Exchange. 6-7:30PM. 

Arts Industry Night: B Street Theatre understands that artists work hard. That’s why they’ve created Industry Night. An evening for artists, actors, photographers, dancers, and performers of all walks to enjoy live theatre at a special industry ticket price. Enjoy “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf,” the winner of the 1963 Tony Award for Best Play. The Broadway production of this play was a shattering and memorable experience and proclaimed the author as a major American playwright. Show up early for cheap drinks. B Street Theatre. Lobby opens at 6PM, Show at 7PM. $9 special rate for artists. Just say "INDUSTRY" for the special rate when you call the Box Office: 916-443-5300.

Xanadu at Crest Theatre: In this 1980 romantic musical fantasy, the mysterious Kira (Olivia Newton-John) appears to assist and inspire a young artist, Sonny Malone (Michael Beck). When she helps him meet up with the rich Danny McGuire (Gene Kelly), the two join up together to create an artistic and business success, an unique club called "Xanadu." Xanadu is fondly remembered now, but in 1980 it received mixed to critical reviews and was ultimately the inspiration for the creation of the Golden Raspberry Awards to memorialize the worst films of the year. Crest Theatre. 7:30PM. $8-10 including facility fees. 

11th Annual Sacramento Horror Film Festival: Two Days & Two Nights of the absolute best in horror featuring films, shorts and live entertainment. Historic Colonial Theatre. The Festival begins at 4PM on Friday and continues through midnight on Saturday. $20-40. 

Saturday:

Pumpkin Patch Opening Day: Come out and enjoy a day at the farm. Uncle's Ray's offers a variety of fun activities complete with a corn maze, hayride, games and delicious food. Uncle Ray’s Pumpkin Patch, 5610 Garden Hwy. 10AM-5PM. Free.

Global Local Mercado: Global and Local artisan goods, food + music! Sol Collective invites you to our 12th annual Global Local Mercado season! The mercado is meant to highlight handmade, arts & cultural goods by local and global vendors. This year we will also feature curated vintage and much more. Sol Collective. 12-5PM.

Sorta Late Afternoon Early Evening Party: Hella smooth music by Shaun Slaughter at the perfect place to vibe out with a late afternoon, early evening drink. Golden Bear. 5-8:30PM.

The White Album “In It’s Entirety” at Crest Theatre: The Beatles released The White Album in 1968 but never played any of the songs live. By the time the album came out, the band had retired from live performances. Aside form a spontaneous rooftop performance at their recording studio in London while recording the album “Let It Be,” Beatles fans never got to hear them play live again. SPMA has painstakingly transcribed and arranged The Beatles White Album “In It’s Entirety,” for Rhythm Section, Strings, Woodwinds, Brass, Percussion, & Choir. Very “Special Guests Musicians,” from the Sacramento Area have collaborated for this concert in an effort to support The SPMA Guitar Project & the iHeartMusic.Org Scholarship Fund, which helps to bring music education, and guitar programs, to underserved schools in the Sacramento area. Crest Theatre. Doors at 6:30PM, Show at 7:30PM. $29.50-48.

Macbeth by Big Idea Theatre: Big Idea Theatre continues its 10th Anniversary Season, FIND YOUR VOICE, with this Shakespeare classic. Inspired by the great Hammer Horror films of the 50s and 60s, Big Idea Theatre’s MACBETH will be a violent, bloody romp where witches and warriors will fill the haunted house theatre this fall!. MACBETH opens September 29th and runs until October 28th, with performances Thursday-Saturday at 8pm. Celebrate the Halloween season at Big Idea theatre! Big Idea Theatre, 1616 Del Paso Blvd.  General Admission is $18 online / $22 door, Students / Seniors / SARTA members are $16 online /$20 door. Groups (10 or more) are $12 each and reservations are required. 

Sunday: 

Midtown For Mexico: A Mexican pub crawl featuring some of your favorite Mexican restaurants in midtown including Zocolo and Azul. For a $45 set price you get 6 drink vouchers and finger food at 5 locations. All proceeds will go to support families in Mexico city Puebla that have been affected by the recent disaster. Azul. 3-9PM. $45.

International Festival: The 7th annual International Festival Davis, brought to you by International House Davis is a free event featuring live music and dancing, food, local businesses and nonprofits, arts and crafts, and culture booths where you can learn more about the world. Central Park Davis. 12-5PM. Free.

Geeks Who Drink!: A weekly pub quiz in which Quizmaster Lara asks you 8 rounds of question on various topics, you answer them and you win free stuff! (Mostly beer). New Helvetia Brewing Co. 6-9PM.

#sacramento whatsupsac plus1sac midtownsac downtownsac beer midtownformexico bstreetsac 916 sactown weekend visitsacramento

[short-years-long-days-blog]

During

A little before 7 o’clock on a Sunday morning, my husband Malachi and I drove to the hospital for my appointment to have my baby. 

This was not how I’d imagined my pregnancy would end.

The whole induction thing came up the previous Thursday night, during one of the non-stress tests I was required to do every three days for a few weeks, ever since my nurse-midwife noticed an irregularity in the baby’s heartbeat during one of my routine visits.

When I came in for that Thursday’s non-stress test after work, I felt like an old pro, resting my bulk onto the hospital bed and propping myself on the pillows at just the right angle. I rolled partway to one side to help the nurse place and tighten the fetal heart monitor, then settled back onto the pillows, looking over at the cardiac monitor as it spat out a ticker tape of lines spiking up into peaks and down into valleys.

After the requisite half hour or so, the nurse returned, and peered over my readings. I had already mapped out the rest of my evening in my head and was anxious to get home and eat dinner, so I could rest before what was to be my last scheduled day in the classroom before my maternity leave would start.

“Hmmm,” the nurse squinted, and held up the reading for me. “You see this line here?”

“Um, yes?” I pretended, willing myself to see whatever significant phenomenon she perceived.

“So, it’s normal for the baby to have some decelerations, but there are a few here that are quite low,” she explained. “I’m going to keep you on here a little longer and then we’ll check it again.”

Her next check revealed more of the same.

“We are obligated to send you to the hospital for more monitoring,” she said. “And legally, we have to send you in an ambulance. I know that you are fine, but if anything were to happen to you on the way, we would be liable, and we want to keep you safe.”

“Okay?” I said. I didn’t know what to feel. As a young EMT helped me onto a stretcher and wheeled me through one of the waiting rooms, I fought the urge to call out, “Don’t worry, everyone! I don’t really need this; it’s just a formality! No emergency here!”

It was a quiet, siren-free ride to the hospital, where I spent the next few hours hooked up to another fetal heart monitor. Malachi met me there, and I told him how tired I was and that I had a weird stomachache. I’d been up since 5:30 that morning, worked all day, then sat in an hour of traffic to get to my appointment.

“I just want to go home,” I said.

Around 10 pm, a doctor entered our small room. She told us she and the nurses were seeing continued irregularities, enough that they couldn’t rule out an abnormality, but not enough to qualify for an emergency.

“I recommend that you be induced tonight,” she said plainly.

I really don’t want to have to have a baby tonight, I thought. Please don’t make me.

“Can we get a little time to talk about it?” I motioned to Malachi.

“Sure, it’s your decision. I’ll check back soon,” the doctor said, and left the room.

I wiped away tears of fatigue as I told my husband that I couldn’t do this. Not tonight.

“I need to go home and rest, at least for one night,” I said. “And then I can call them to get induced, if that’s what we need to do.”

He said that he would follow my wishes, and we explained our decision to the doctor, who, if not enthusiastically, accepted it.

“It’s not against medical advice if you decide to go home tonight,” she said. “But do keep in mind that at this point, we can take better care of your baby outside of your body than inside.”

Just give me 24 hours, I thought as I drove home. I arranged for a sub to cover the next day’s classes, and told my teaching partner the news, that unbeknownst to both of us, today had been my last day. He wished me luck and said he would wait for updates.

And I waited.

While Malachi was at work the next day, I waited, whispering little messages of encouragement to my body and to the baby, telling the baby it was safe to come out. I ate lunch with my younger sister, who added some pineapple to the meal since we read it can have labor-stimulating properties.

“Have you called yet?” Malachi asked when he got home.

“I just want to give it a little longer,” I said. “I’m 39 and a half weeks. I could go into labor any time.”

“One more day,” he said, raising an eyebrow and giving me a long look.

On Friday and Saturday, I went for a couple two-mile walks, and at one point climbed on top of Malachi for some unwieldy and quite unsexy sex. I felt like the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade turkey float.

Still nothing. Waiting for something so meaningful to start, I felt I should be practically anointing myself every hour in anticipation, ushering in this sacred occasion with a vigil or something. But after one day, I dropped my noble fantasies and sat around watching Netflix like everybody else.

By Saturday afternoon, anxiety had gotten to me. I’d been told to carefully monitor the baby’s movements, and notify medical staff immediately if my belly went quiet for too long. I obsessively kept my hands on my abdomen, poking and prodding the baby from its every nap. I didn’t think I could do any more days of this, and Malachi’s confidence was faltering.

“I thought you were just going to wait one day,” he reminded me.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll call the doctor.”

                                                   *          *          *

 So there we were in the car on Sunday morning, on our way to the hospital. I listened to some hypnobirthing tracks, feeling like one of my students cramming for a test. “Breathe your baby down…now feel yourself open up like a flower, still breathing deeply…feel your baby start to move toward this opening…” After weeks of intermittent listening, I was still distracted by the narrator’s Australian accent. I willed myself to ignore it and absorb as much of her wisdom as possible. This is your last chance, I told myself.

When we got to the hospital, our nurse Jacque met us at the front desk. I of course had to mention the show Nurse Jackie, which we had been compulsively watching over the last few weeks, but stopped myself from making jokes about popping pills. Jacque brought us to our room and put me on fetal heart and contraction monitors.

At about 10 in the morning, I was hooked up to the Pitocin I.V. I was mostly excited to get the process going, but I still heard the voice of one of the women from our birth class:

“All my friends said they wanted a natural childbirth, but every one of them ended up getting an epidural.”

I thought about our culture’s response to pain, the way we were taught to purchase and numb our way out of it. A pill for every ill.

I remembered stories I’d heard about Kenyan long-distance runners, and emerging theories that their success could be attributed in no small part to what they learned about pain in their childhoods. Pubescent boys and girls learned to stare down pain and walk with it through grueling initiation ceremonies and circumcision rituals. Many schoolchildren thought nothing of running many miles each day, learning to persist through burning lungs and burning muscles, accepting these as conditions of daily living and a common method of transport.

I thought about my own relationship to pain.

Physically, I could be tough. I ran and hiked through a 30-mile canyon in eastern Oregon during a running camp one summer as a teenager. My nickname on my high school cross-country team was “Energizer Bunny,” because I did not relent until I finished every last requirement of a workout. In my adult life, I’d run two half-marathons, the grueling 200-mile relay race Hood to Coast twice, and summited Mount Fuji.

Emotional pain was another matter.

I hadn’t learned healthy ways to cope with it during my childhood, so I’d spent almost 20 years numbing myself by starving, exercising, binge-eating, drinking, drugging, shopping, and using other people for their bodies and resources.

I thought about how hard I had worked during my past seven years in recovery to learn how to feel pain and accept it, to not numb it, change it, or run away from it. I viewed the birth as an expression of that journey, and was a little sad to be hooked up to so many machines so early in the process. But the medical staff’s increasing references to “my age” and information about higher risk of stillbirths with each accumulative year of the mother’s age had me sufficiently spooked, so I surrendered to what I’d snidely referred to earlier as the medical-industrial complex, and put my and my baby’s care in their hands.

Through the window of our hospital room, I could see that it was an overcast but mostly dry day. I didn’t feel anything different for the next few hours. I was dilated to 3.5 centimeters when we came in, and that seemed encouraging. Our first nurse-midwife drew ten circles on the room’s white board, each circle consecutively larger in diameter and designating the progression of dilation from one centimeter up to the coveted 10, then recorded my arrival time in between the third and fourth circles. I noticed that the names of everyone who would be attending to me were also written on the board, which accomplished its purpose of making me feel reassured.

I decided this was a good time to put my mermaid temporary tattoo on the inside of my wrist. It was from the shower thrown for me by my group of recovery friends. We call ourselves the “mermaid tribe,” a term bestowed upon us by our unofficial high priestess, Serena, who lives by the Anaïs Nin quote: “I must be a mermaid…I have no fear of depths and a great fear of shallow living.”

I took a picture of the tattoo and sent a text alerting the tribe of my status.

My friend Jeannie drove two hours from Eugene and got there around noon, with my sisters soon after. Still feeling nothing, I spent the next few hours resting and chatting. I was a little tired and knew it was important to save my energy, so I tried not to feel guilty about lying down in bed and closing my eyes from time to time. I was starting to retreat into introspection, aware of the journey I was already on.

We all laughed at Jeannie’s stories and jokes, especially when she sang 80s covers in her best Ethel Merman voice, and described her days dancing in a Florida strip club.

We passed around magazines and the New York Times, but it was hard to concentrate. I read something about Drake, something about David Bowie’s life in New York. My eyes took in the words, but my brain released them immediately after.

I was asked if I wanted to watch TV, but surprised myself by refusing the distraction. There was nothing to do but wait, and yet I couldn’t let my mind engage in something else. I was strangely content with just being present and letting things unfold.

Jacque returned at intervals to check the Pitocin, and turned it up a little more each time when she saw that I wasn’t responding to it much at all yet. By about 3 in the afternoon, I started to feel more tightening and what I started to recognize as mostly painless contractions. Out of sheer boredom and a sense of obligation to all the natural childbirth books that espoused the importance of staying active during labor, I walked a few laps around the hospital floor, getting used to wheeling the I.V. cart alongside me, as if I had sprouted a metal appendage adorned with loops of plastic tubing and a glowing screen.

Contractions started to come a little more regularly, but were still mostly just uncomfortable. A little before 5 in the evening, the nurses decided to check me again to see how much I’d progressed. I was only dilated to 4 centimeters, so the nurse-midwife suggested they break my water to help things along.

Our childbirth class and the natural childbirth literature I’d immersed myself in advocated for the creation of a birth plan that could communicate the mother’s wishes, especially in unforeseen circumstances or stress. Freshly indignant after reading about the de-humanizing and overly medicalized history of 20th century childbirth, I filled out the hospital-provided birth plan form, wielding my pen like a weapon against the centuries of misogyny that left women powerless, confused, and scared about a process their bodies already knew how to do since the dawn of humanity.

I checked off, NO, I do NOT want Pitocin; YES, I want my waters to break on their own; NO, I do NOT want an epidural. I was tempted to write in the comments section, Keep your invasive procedures out of my womb, but I thought it best to not come into the hospital swinging.

As one of the nurses held up what looked like a knitting needle with a tiny hook on the end and explained that I would feel a warm gush of water after it was inserted, I didn’t think about my birth plan. I didn’t think, This is how it happens. This is how you start doubting yourself and let the medical-industrial complex take over and make you irrelevant in your own birth. They suggest one little step, and then another one, and then the next thing you know, birth is being done to you, and you’re a passive participant in the whole thing, waiting for the next poke, prick, and stitch.

Instead, I thought, Okay. This is what birth looks like for me right now. I thought of Eva, one of my mermaid friends, who told me that when she was struggling during her son’s birth, looking for a way out, and pleading, “This isn’t the way this is supposed to happen,” a nurse gently replied, “This is how it is done.”

So, the knitting needle went in, and warm fluid gushed out, like a faucet had been turned on inside me. I laid down on the cotton pads that had been placed underneath me for awhile, waiting for the fluid to subside. By 6 pm, just as my contractions were getting a little stronger, Jeannie had to leave, since she was working the next morning and still had to drive the two hours home. I felt weirdly apologetic, like she’d bought a ticket to a concert, and ended up sitting around watching the stage crew set up for hours instead.

After about seven hours of mostly waiting, here I was on the threshold of active labor.

Everything gets a bit hazy and dream-like at this point.

“Being pregnant is like being on acid,” Jeannie had told me months earlier, and I’d agreed. From even the first trimester, you move in the world but don’t feel entirely of the world. Your senses heighten, making things like drinking ice water intolerable because you can smell the food aromas on the ice that’s been sitting in your freezer. Like a tripping teenager attempting to nonchalantly buy candy at a convenience store in the middle of the night, you walk around with an awareness that something profound is happening inside you (Serena would say that you’re growing a particle of God inside your body, after all), while you try to interact with the world as if everything is the same and it’s just another day.

At that point, I decided that active labor is the “peaking” phase of the pregnancy acid trip. Sometime shortly after the outside world started to fade away, I listened to a little bit of a hypnobirthing “surge breathing” track and began to feel the progression of each contraction. I felt myself moving into different positions without conscious thought—I sat on a yoga ball and rotated my hips, got on all fours on the bed and tried to walk around. When a new contraction rolled through me, I instinctively stopped and squatted down. My younger sister stroked my neck and back lightly with her fingertips after I got back on the ball, which was deliciously relaxing. I started imagining each contraction as a circle or a track that I was traveling around. As each one got stronger, I imagined God walking with me, and at times carrying me around the bend.

Even while the contractions were getting more painful, I could still talk a little between them and tell Malachi and my sisters about what I was thinking and feeling. A soundtrack had also started in my head: “Kooks” by David Bowie, “Be Here in the Morning,” by The Beach Boys, bits of the Nurse Jackie theme song. Then, as I felt each contraction come on, the Stones’ line, “Here it comes, here it comes” from “19th Nervous Breakdown.” It crossed my mind to get out my iPod, but that was suddenly too complicated of a task. Like I said, acid trip.

It was maybe around 8 in the evening when my contractions got much more intense. (I really don’t know how much time had passed, which is funny, because I remember looking at the clock in early labor and worrying I would be too focused on it, which I then worried would make me too stressed and hinder my progress.)

I felt myself on a different plane. Everything and everyone else faded into the background even more, as if they were now moving underwater and I was still on land. I couldn’t hold on to the image of traveling around the circle of contractions anymore—I was simply overtaken by pain with each one. I did not summon any of the relaxation breathing and visualization techniques I had pored over and practiced during the previous months.

It did not occur to me to do this, and it did not matter. I did evolve from thinking about each contraction as a circle, to thinking about moving through each of them as climbing a hill and coming down the other side, kind of like riding a roller coaster, or a wave. But eventually that image dissolved too.

My actions and reactions became even more instinctual, and were guided by my body and a greater force outside myself. I started moaning, and swore during a couple different surges. I didn’t totally relax my body as I had learned to do, but instead found myself grabbing onto the top edge of the bed, my pillow, or the bars along the toilet or the hallway, depending on where I was at the time.

I tried to relax between contractions, but “relaxing” just meant being in slightly less pain for a few moments in between intervals of greater pain. I felt annoyed by people talking in the background, but it felt like too much effort to say anything. Or they felt too far away, like they might not hear me even if I did say something. I think the nurses turned down the Pitocin a couple different times when they saw how intense things had gotten.

One of the nurses who had replaced Jacque after my water broke, Barb, said she could get one of the tubs ready for me. At this hospital, you weren’t allowed to give birth in the water, but you could labor in a tub for as long as you wanted. It felt like she was gone for an hour, and my pain was making me more desperate.

I ended up sitting on the toilet for quite awhile because I kept feeling like I had to poop. I maybe did once, but the rest of the time I just stayed there because it was the most comfortable position by then. Later, I stood up and grabbed onto Malachi’s neck, hanging my full weight from him when the pain peaked.

“Whoa,” he said and stumbled, taken aback by the force on his body, and I couldn’t muster the energy to tell him to just deal with it; he wasn’t the one doing the equivalent of pushing a watermelon out of his butthole.

We finally started making our trek to the tub, which felt like crossing a desert. I had to stop several times in the hallway and squat during contractions. I eased my heft into the tub, breathing a sigh of relief as the warm water enveloped and buoyed me. I floated on my back, grabbed onto a bar during surges, and turned over to my stomach. Malachi hovered nearby, asking if he could do anything. I doubted he could penetrate my bubble even if he tried, so I just said no.

“You’re doing so good,” he repeated.

By now, the pain gripped my mind and body; it was my whole reality. I started wondering how much longer I could do this; I started to dread each contraction. I tried to remind myself that each one was temporary, and I only had to get through one at a time.

And yet, without any volition on my part, I still managed to be in the total present moment of each breath at a time. There was nothing outside of that; I had no resources to see or feel or know anything around the breath’s edges. A single contraction was too much, I could only exist in each inhalation and exhalation.

The entire premise of my birth plan, and my attitude toward it, seemed laughably ignorant and arrogant in this moment. Yet I remembered a concession I’d embedded within its verbiage, now glimmering like a coin dropped in a field.

I had informed Malachi when I wrote down my original birth plan requests, “I will tell you if I need an out. If I need pain medication. You know that I don’t want to have to resort to that, but if I tell you I need it, listen to me. Don’t try to talk me out of it.”

I turned this coin over and over in my mind, as spasms of pain rippled through me with no real differentiation in between them. My voice dropped the coin into my husband’s lap: “I don’t know how much longer I can do this. I’m going to need something, if I have to keep going.”

Then something new happened.

I’d been in the tub for what felt like an hour, but I really have no idea how long it really was. I was sucking in air hard, then letting it out several times through each surge. A low, guttural noise suddenly escaped from my throat, and this grunt seemed to travel all the way down my body and out through the bottom. It happened again.

“I feel like I want to push,” I muttered to Malachi, “or maybe I just need to poop again.”

He went to get Barb, and by the time he came back, I was already starting to stand up and trying to step over the side of the tub. Something told me to get out of that tub. Now.

“Okay, okay, hold on just a minute, let us help you here,” Barb said gently.

“I feel like I want to push,” I repeated.

I was led, hobbling, to a bed adjacent to the tub, and told to lie down.

“Well, you are fully dilated, and indeed, ready to push!” Barb announced.

My thoughts (Already? Really? Isn’t it too early for that?) had just as soon formed as they were pushed out by a chorus (Haaaa-llelujah! Haaaa-llelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Ha-le-eh-lujah!).

I wanted to cry with relief. I could do this. The end was in sight.

They asked if I wanted to stay there and I said, Fine, because I didn’t care where this was going to happen; I just wanted to finish the job. But they decided it would be better to bring me back to my room, so they put me in a wheelchair, naked. They could have wheeled me down the hall just like that and I wouldn’t have cared, but a blanket was thrown over me first to preserve whatever scrap of dignity I might still possess.

Somehow, I moved from the wheelchair back to the bed in my room, where my sisters had been discussing their plan for leaving and coming back in the morning, since of course it would be silly for them to wait around during a long, overnight labor.

“What? She’s pushing?” They looked at me in disbelief through the flurry of people suddenly in front of them. It had only been five hours since my water broke and active labor really started.

I got on all fours. I felt the grunting sensation at the end of each contraction again. A wave of nausea washed over me, and I gagged into a plastic bag set up at the edge of the bed.

“Here,” a nurse said, “the baby has a low heart rate and is showing some fetal distress, so let’s get you on your side because that’s safer.” Malachi held my top leg as I tried to figure out how to push in this awkward new position.

Soon after, a swarm of nurses and a doctor suddenly filled the room. I was told that because of fetal distress, the baby needed to come quickly or I would have to be taken into surgery.

“And we will probably need to use a vacuum extractor to help get the baby out faster,” someone said.

None of this scared me. I was ready to do whatever necessary to get this baby out safely. They moved me to my back since the doctor would need to use the vacuum, and they put an oxygen mask over my face, telling me I needed to send more oxygen to the baby. As I felt each contraction, I pushed as hard as I could, grunting and grabbing on to the bed bars. I was straining, not doing the more gentle “birth breathing” I learned about, as it seemed we were past gentleness. My pelvic floor felt like it might split open, and I prayed that the contractions would keep coming, so this would all end soon.

Then, inexplicably, my contractions slowed, my body uneasily feeling like the glassy surface of a lake after a boat’s wake has receded.

“I want to push, but I don’t feel more contractions,” I reported, confused.

“Do you mind if I roll your nipples to help get the contractions going again?” a nurse asked.

I was half-tempted to look over at Malachi and snicker, since that was one of our jokes from birth class.

“Okay, when the teacher asks what things you can do to stimulate labor, after someone says eating pineapple or whatever, you have to say in a loud voice, “NIPPLE STIMULATION,” I had dared him, only because I knew he was too modest and polite to do so.

As the nurse started her nipple work, Barb coached me to push hard at least twice during each contraction: “Curl around your baby and push.”

After what felt like a few minutes, but what actually was about half an hour later, the pressure in my pelvis changed and transformed into an intense burning. Jeannie had told me about “the ring of fire,” and at the time of her first son’s birth, she said that all she could see when she closed her eyes was a huge, pulsating circle.

I pushed as hard as I could, feeling like it wasn’t enough, like I couldn’t give more even though I desperately wanted to. Then, in a white explosion of pain, a flood of warm liquid spilled out of my body. I vaguely wondered if all of my insides had followed.

A baby was held up to my face. The baby that I had just pushed out. I held it to my chest, shaking. I clutched the tiny body. Did this just happen?

Then someone asked, “Is it a boy or a girl?”

“We forgot to look!” Malachi laughed, then lifted the baby’s body to display a tiny penis.

A boy! My whole pregnancy, I’d been secretly convinced it would be a girl. There was no logic to this, just an arbitrary supposition based on a comment made by my mom, and my experience growing up with two sisters.

Our baby boy didn’t cry, just looked around, calmly. I looked right into his eyes.

Who are you? Who will you be?

Deluged with euphoria and relief, I had no idea that they used the vacuum extractor on my last couple pushes, and the baby came out so quickly that I tore. I felt nothing as the young doctor stitched me up as if she were at a quilting bee, her fingers flying gracefully as she chatted with Malachi and the staff.

I felt our baby’s tiny animal body in between my hands, and thought of something Serena had told me the last time she and I had been together:

“Regardless of whatever happens during your child’s life, you’ll never not be a mother again. With this birth, you are reborn.”

#birth story #childbirth #natural childbirth

[thechasefiles]

The Chase Files Daily Newscap 9/30/2018

Good MORNING #realdreamchasers! Here is The Chase Files Daily News Cap for Sunday September 30th 2018. Remember you can read full articles by purchasing Sunday Sun Nation Newspaper (SS), via Barbados Today (BT) or Barbados Government Information Services (BGIS).

BARBADOS' INFRASTRUCTURE IS IN A WOEFUL STATE – Barbados’ infrastructure is in a “woeful state,” and while the Government does not have the finances to deal with all the issues it will prioritize the critical needs, Prime Minister Mia Mottley has said. She made the comment following a day-long tour of flood-affected communities following the passage of Tropical Storm Kirk. The system dumped heavy rain on the island over a 12 hour period — from Thursday night into the wee hours of Friday morning.  “The . . . truth is that we have found a deficit in the country’s infrastructure. Our country’s infrastructure is in a woeful state and we need to be able to deal with it. We don’t have the money to deal with all at once but we have to prioritize what we need to and between the various ministries we are going to go after it systematically. “We also have some development work that we have to do with respect to loans that will be critical,” Mottley who was accompanied by several Cabinet Ministers and other officials told reporters. She further explained that the biggest claim on public infrastructure was water and sewage, followed by drainage and roads. “You can’t ignore [the] infrastructure for as long as we have been ignoring it and expect that it is still going to function in the same way. So when we say sometimes to people that we are focusing on needs, and not wants, it’s because we understand that the needs of the country in terms of public spaces is able to avert drainage problems . . . able to avert flooding . . . able to avert problems with the roads . . . . All of these things are as a result of a lack of attention to detail and not prioritizing how we spend public money,” Mottley added. The Prime Minister who arrived in the country early this morning, after cutting short her attendance at the United Nations General Assembly in New York, said her administration and other Government agencies will meet on Monday afternoon to get formal reports on the level of damage done by Tropical Storm Kirk. “The problems that we have are not insurmountable but we have to deal with them. In some cases there were fixes that can be dealt with immediately by the Ministry of Public Works and the Drainage Division. In other cases we will have to assist those that have been very badly affected through the Government agencies that are set up to do that. In other cases we will need to have more medium term to long term solutions,” the Prime Minister said even as she urged residents to keep their surroundings clean. “I want to be able to meet with Cabinet for us to discuss how we can have a better decentralized system where communities and households, and not just Government, can help us in this effort to be able to keep Barbados clean,” she revealed. Mottley also disclosed plans for a “major national preparation exercise” when the 2018 hurricane season comes to a close. “We are not waiting until next June because these things are affecting too many people and in ways that are substantive. So early in the new year we are going to have some . . . simulation exercises . . . .because the bottom line is that if we don’t take care of each other in preparing for this, then what happened in other jurisdictions will cause too many people regrettably to die. Most people don’t die from the water itself, they die from the consequences of it and then the other big problem afterwards is security. So these are the things that we have to get right,” the Prime Minister explained. (BT)

HIGHER FEES LIKELY – Increased user fees and staff cuts could be in the offing as local banks and insurance companies seek to recoup their losses suffered under Government’s debt restructuring programme. That programme offers to swap Government’s financial instruments on which it has defaulted – Treasury Bills, Treasury Notes, debentures, bonds and loans – for new debt instruments which maintain payment of creditors’ principal, but will pay less interest and take longer to mature. Though president of the Barbados Bankers Association Donna Wellington said she was “not at liberty to discuss this at this time”, veteran banker Harold Russell said the banks are incurring heavy losses from the debt restructuring and would seek to recoup that money. “They will try to make it up . . . by increasing their fees, by reducing their branches, by reducing their staff, by improving on their computerisation; things like that,” said Russell.  (SS)

GOVT STARTS TALKS WITH DEBTORS - Government has started to have preliminary discussions with several entities it is indebted to. Minister in the Ministry of Finance Ryan Straughn told the Sunday Sun that after these discussions reach an advanced stage, priority would be given to repayment but it would be a phased process since the country is $1.2 billion in debt, dozens of agencies are owed, and the adjustment period under the Barbados Economic Recovery Transformation (BERT) programme is underway. The minister was reluctant to provide a list of the entities owed, saying they wanted to treat to the debt as equitably as possible.  “The truth is the debt is over a billion dollars. The Government owes almost everyone in Barbados,” he admitted. (SS)

NEW NATIONAL INSURANCE BOARD – The chairman of the National Insurance Board is Ian Gooding-Edghill, while Professor Avinash Persaud is the deputy. Queen’s Counsel Leslie Haynes, and a representative each from the Barbados Workers’ Union, the Barbados Hotel and Tourism Association, and the Barbados Employers’ Confederation are members. In addition, the Chief Labour Officer, the Director of Finance and Economic Affairs and the Permanent Secretary (Finance) in the Ministry of Finance, Economic Affairs and Investment, or their nominee, are on the Board. The board has been appointed for a period of two years, with effect from July 1. (BGIS)

SENATOR WIGGINS TAKES OATH – Independent Senator Alphea Margot Wiggins says her new position is a testimony to how far women have come in earning political positions. Wiggins, the outgoing deputy High Commissioner to the United Kingdom, was sworn in yesterday at Government House, Pine Hill, St Michael, 117 days after the other six Independent senators took their oaths of office on Monday, June 4. Yesterday, after the brief ceremony, Wiggins said:  “It is a privilege to be chosen by Her Excellency[Governor General Dame Sandra Mason] to serve. “And over the years, the number of women in key positions has been increasing. Women, in general, have been taking leading roles here in Barbados, but we women are coming of age,” she said. General secretary of the Barbados Workers’ Union (BWU), Toni Moore, attorneys-at-law Monique Taitt and Kevin John Boyce, Reverend Michael Bruce St John Maxwell, Lindell Elon Nurse and Christopher Maynard were the other Barbadians selected by the Governor General to be Independent senators. (BGIS)

BAR BATTLE - The fight for determining if compulsory membership to the Bar Association is unconstitutional is just getting started. That’s because former Bar Association president Tariq Khan, on behalf of his client who he did not want to identify, last week filed an application to the High Court seeking leave to appeal a recent decision by High Court judge Pamela Beckles. In a 19-page judgement handed down by Beckles last month, she had ruled that no law, inclusive of the Legal Profession Act, was more supreme than the Constitution, which provides a freedom to associate, thus determining that compulsory membership to the Bar Association was in itself, unconstitutional. Khan plans to challenge that without a doubt.  (SS)

TEEN CHARGED IN SHOOTING INCIDENT – Eighteen-year-old Mahindra Alexander Thomas of Redman Road, Deacons, St Michael has been charged in connection with last week's shooting incident in New Orleans, St Michael.  Thomas is expected to appear in the District "A" Magistrates' Court today charged with unlawful use of a firearm, use of a firearm without a license and three counts of criminal damage all allegedly occurring between September 23 and 24, 2018 at New Orleans.   One woman was slightly injured in the incident in which police said a number of spent shells from various firearms was recovered.   Investigations are continuing into the matter and police are appealing to anyone with information that can assist in solving the matter to contact them.  They are asked to contact police Major Crime Department at 430-7193 or police emergency at 211, Crime Stoppers at 1-800-8477 or the nearest police station. The police are reminding members of the public that it is a serious us offence to harbour or assist wanted persons. Anyone caught committing the offence can be prosecuted. (SS)

BIG PARADE TO END TOURISM WEEK - Tourism Week ended with a bang on as thousands danced and sang through the streets of Bridgetown on Saturday morning.  The parade highlighted numerous elements of Barbados’ tourism product including our hotels, beaches and Crop Over.  It left Queen's Park around 10:30 a.m, led by the Barbados Defence Force Band and featured performers from groups. They included cheerleaders, excited masqueraders, jet ski operators and representatives of the Barbados Tourism Marketing Inc. and the Grantley and Adams International Airport.  The event ended at Independence Square with a prize-giving ceremony.  (SS)

For daily or breaking news reports follow us on Instagram, Tumblr, Twitter & Facebook. That’s all for today folks. There are 93 days left in the year. Shalom! #thechasefilesdailynewscap #thechasefiles# dailynewscapsbythechasefiles

#The Chase Files Daily Blogs #The Chase Files Daily News Cap #The Chase Files #Barbados Today #Nation News #Sunday Sun #BGIS #Barbados Government Information Service #Mia Amor Mottley #BLP #Tropical Storm Kirk #Higher Fees Likely #Debt Fall Out

[sightsoundandcinematography]

We need to talk about Dunkirk...

Fair warning, this is a lengthy one!

I left the cinema on Friday night having not been to the cinema in months. Every time I’ve watched films in the last year or so it has been for my degree - which did pay off as I managed to get a 2:1 (the grade needed to let me do a master’s degree). 

The point is, the first film I’ve managed to actually get to the cinema to see is a war film. As a student of film, I try never to be biased against war films, but generally they’re not my bag. It’s not that I’m not grateful for all that soldiers etc do for us, please understand, my grandfather fought alongside the other brave people at Dunkirk. He was fixing the pier on the beach that was repeatedly bombed, constantly being pushed back in the queue to escape the horror of that beach. My grandad eventually swam two miles out to sea to be picked up by a ship and brought home: he didn’t know if anything was out there, but the situation was so desperate he was either going to die on that beach after helping everyone else get out, or die trying to swim to safety. Luckily he was picked up, brought home and lived a long and happy life after that, until 1997, when he died as an older man. 

Yes, I’m connected then to Dunkirk. However, even without that I can guarantee you that I’d still class Dunkirk as one of the most expertly made pieces of cinema I’ve ever seen. It is without doubt the closest I will ever get to knowing the sound of war, unless they bring conscription back. It’s one thing to read historical accounts of what war is like, to listen to the poetry of war and think how horrible it must have been. But my sister is 42. She’s known the story of what it was like since birth and she left the cinema in tears, because it made the stories real for her and she imagined my young grandad, scared, alone and being bombed.

I’ve seen complaints about Dunkirk, particularly about the soundtrack and I wanted to put a few issues to bed.  There was a particular article in Marie Clare that caught my eye this afternoon and I’d like to offer an opposing argument. 

Firstly, I disagree vehemently with the opening of the article (which will be linked below) which characterises ‘ranking movies’ or choosing to dare wear a fedora as character traits specifically of men that need to be ‘eyerolled’ at. The whole point of my degree in some aspects was to rank movies - am I completely invalid for doing so? No. I’m not. 

The next point is that the article does admit that Dunkirk is a well made film, without giving any actual credit for that fact, almost as if technical brilliance should be overlooked - and I don’t see why it should be. The fact the author felt as if she would vomit throughout is entirely intentional. As stated earlier, how many war films give such an accurate feeling to their audience of what a battle is actually like? I was terrified every time a German plane appeared, a ship was torpedoed or a bomb dropped and for the first time I understood the amount of soldiers with PTSD and how quickly it must have took hold on them, understandably so. 

I also dispute the argument that there is no plot to Dunkirk. A lot of people of my age are not as interested in their history as I am. They don’t know how desperate the British war effort was and Dunkirk opens the window on this. I’m not saying the younger generation are clueless, I know that not to be true, but a lot of people do not have the same connection I do, to pass down the stories of the thousands of British people who set out to Dunkirk to do their bit for our war effort and rescue our soldiers. ‘Stuff’ does happen. Tom Hardy brings down the Heinkel (German plane) in the end, Harry Styles & co. continue their escape attempt meeting nothing but trouble. I just don’t understand how people can say nothing happens. 

Speaking of Harry Styles, I will accept that some people will not be able to differentiate between Harry Styles the pop star and ‘heart throb’ and Harry Styles, the now seemingly serious actor. Let me be clear, I cannot stand Harry Styles the pop star. I was falsely led to believe that he drowns in the first five minutes he appears. I was glad he didn’t, I actually liked him as an actor. A statement I never thought I’d say. I will agree that I saw him and thought ‘oh there he is’ and that was it, I got on with watching the film - it is not a distraction at all. Even if it were, I would argue the rest of the effect, the ‘vomit’ inducing realism distracts you from the ‘OMG it’s Harry Styles’. 

My key dispute though, is the claim that this film is only for men. Only caters to men. Apart from the fact that stereotyping Dunkirk as a certain type of Tinder bio is highly disrespectful - in my view if we truly want gender equality the man bashing has to stop. Just as the woman bashing has to stop. Why can’t we all just be decent to each other? But that’s probably a post for another time. 

There is nothing about this film that screams aimed at just men for me. I can see why you’d think that, war films are something a lot of my generation endure on lazy Sunday afternoons to please their father. What I’ve seen though, is an abundance of women attending screenings of Dunkirk and coming out with nothing but praise. I’m willing to admit that the author of the Marie Clare article may have had a vastly different experience with this film, but that’s not to say we should rule out all other perspectives. 

As for why Nolan didn’t make a film about women in WWII, perhaps it’s wisest to break the mould of the existing war film archetype before attempting to flip it much more by focussing on more marginalised groups. Although before making such a claim without backing it up, I would point out a list of the ten greatest films about women in wartime on the BFI website (again I will link at the bottom of this post). Seriously, google the issue. I know we’re not there yet when it comes to representing minorities, but the progress that’s been made is applaudable. 

As to the final sentences of that article. I’m sorry the author felt she’d been a victim of ‘mansplaining’. But has she ever considered that the man in question was just trying to explain what I have less eloquently? Some people don’t articulate themselves well and other people need to remember that. Although another explanation is that people are so fed up of our veterans who fought for our liberty being trashed upon. Every time a war medal is stolen, the sacrifice given is disrespected and I for one believe we should remember, in the poetry and parades and always be thankful for what so many people (both men and women) gave up for us. I would like to remind people that the Nazi’s would have disliked feminism as much as the patriarchy do. Without the sacrifices made at places like Dunkirk, you might not be able to class yourself a proud feminist and if a film like Dunkirk helps my generation remember that, then I’m all for it.

I’m sorry for the length of this post and perhaps I wasn’t as coherent as I thought I’d been. I hope I’ve covered all the points I wanted to address though. 

Thanks for reading!

Link to the original Marie Clare article that prompted this post: http://www.marieclaire.com/celebrity/news/a28515/dunkirk-movie-review/

Link to the BFI’s list of 10 greatest wartime women films: http://www.bfi.org.uk/news-opinion/news-bfi/lists/10-great-films-about-women-wartime

#dunkirk #film #review #2017 #christopher nolan #tom hardy #battle #wartime #war film #marie clare #article #bfi #feminism #blockbuster #harry styles #acting

[janetgannon]

Everybody duck! The ups and downs of the 2017 Tacoma Festival of Sail

There are a lot of things that go through your mind as you are about to be run down by the World’s Largest Duck, but the thought that I remember best is, “This is the most ridiculous nautical incident I have ever been involved with.”

And that’s saying a lot.

Moments before things got too busy to take pictures.

I was standing on the aft deck of the M/V Lotus, a 1909 cruising houseboat I was crewing aboard at Tacoma’s 2017 Festival of Sail. It was raining, a light patter that had turned into slanted curtains of water as the wind picked up down the line of the Foss Waterway.

Now it was making the World’s Largest Duck, being towed back to its berth inboard of us at the Dock Street Marina in front of the new promenade at the Museum of Glass, a real handful for the three small craft trying to shunt it into place.

It was going to be a tight fit no matter what. They had to make a sharp corner ahead of the Hawaiian Chieftain, scrape past the bowsprit of the Mycia, and power up into the powerful current coming down the waterway to tuck back into the dock.

Engines roared and tensions flared on the tow boats and those of us spectating from our own vessels nervously began to unlimber boat hooks as the big bird lurched menacingly around the waterway. Aboard the S/V Thane, moored next to us, skipper Pete Reid shinnied out onto his bowsprit armed with a boat hook to do battle with the beast as it lunged toward him, a modern-day Ahab jabbing at his own great yellow whale.

Although it must have looked comical from shore, the six stories worth of bright yellow sail area was perched on top of a sharp-edged metal barge that could have turned any of our wooden hulls into kindling.

People line up to visit Lady Washington.

I pushed off one of the towboats as it slid into Lotus‘ transom, then took their tow line and secured it to our stern bitt while the other boats used us as a pivot to swing the duck around safely past Pete and finally, breathlessly, into its slip.

And that was just the first day.

It was also the day of the Parade of Sail, with an iffy forecast that caused our captain to cancel Lotus‘ participation. Since we were scheduled to be one of the parade waypoints, this was likely to be a disappointment to the organizers, and as the least senior crewperson I was left to deliver the bad news at the captain’s meeting that morning.

Fortunately, my mumbled apology was quickly subsumed by more critical issues — the ships had only received the parade schedule and instructions a couple days before and no one had a chance to adequately prepare. In the case of Virginia V, set to lead off the procession, this meant that the departure time had been confused with the parade start time. With only an hour until departure, there was no engineer on board — and three hours were required to raise steam.

But despite a late start, missing waypoint, and pouring rain, the parade was pulled off creditably and the tall ships strutted their stuff through Commencement Bay and announced the formal start of the festival.

With Friday came sun and crowds. Almost 900 people filed through Lotus, so many that I got a blister on my clicker finger from counting. I got sick of the inevitable look of wonder and the exclamations that come from anyone stepping into her stately saloon for the first time.

Outside, the graceful dome of the U.S. Courthouse smiled down benevolently on the masts and flags, and the Museum of Glass provided a sweeping backdrop to the Dock Street venue. The marina — clean, new and staffed by helpful and courteous hands — is a first-rate facility in an excellent location, and the Thea Foss Waterway embraces Tacoma’s nautical heritage in a way that sometimes-snobby Seattle can’t compete with.

Despite this, as we had brought Lotus in to dock, our crew had debated the reasons that Tacoma continues to get a bad rap and fewer visitors than it deserves after putting so much effort into revamping the waterfront.

Our captain, who has deep nautical and family roots in the area, had the answer.

“It doesn’t matter what you do to it,” he said philosophically. “It’s still Tacoma.”

But Tacoma turned out for the tall ships, sending an estimated 120,000 people down to see us over the weekend. At least, those that managed to catch a glimpse of us around the sides of the six-story duck.

Skipper Pete Reid of the Thane, a Spray replica homeported in Victoria, chats with visitors on the docks.

The controversy that embroiled the duck at its next destination in Canada was entirely absent on the docks in Tacoma. Although there were some snide remarks and a good deal of kvetching among crews whose boats the duck eclipsed, for the most part it was recognized that, tacky as it was, the massive yellow bird was bringing people onto the docks and past the boats.

And while some past iterations of the festival have had rougher crowds, the kid-friendly aspect of the duck-centered hoopla brought families to the festival and introduced a new generation of Pacific Northwesterners to many of the classic boats that are our heritage here.

Helping drive home that heritage, the Foss Waterway Seaport Museum opened its doors for free. With the flags flapping on the tall ships outside and echoes of “Sloop John B” coming from the band outside, kids flocked to the Lego exhibits inside to try their own hand at shipbuilding.

Hands-on shipbuilding at the Foss Waterway Seaport.

But the secret of any festival is that the best parts are after hours. With the crowds away, crews visited with one another and caught up, talked shop or told sea stories, played music and shared meals. Wonderful spicy scents wafted around the docks and laughter rippled across the water.

On Lotus, we retired to the upper deck with stir fry and drinks to enjoy the balmy evening air as night fell. Across the dock, Captain Pete strummed gently on his banjo and the music drifted across the upper deck as we talked late into the evening of foreign lands, adventures and vessels we had known. The duck loomed ominously in the background, silhouetted by the city lights.

On both Saturday and Sunday we clocked more than 1,800 visitors aboard Lotus; Zodiac had over 2,000, despite being out for day sails at times. An estimated 120,000 people showed up over the weekend.

For the most part, the crowd seemed to have fun despite poor organization and planning. A litany of complaints came from attendees, not about the boats or crews, but about the event itself: Long lines (in part due to inconsistent policies that kept the docks almost empty at times), missed sailing, transportation issues, missing signage, lack of seating, few food options.

I waited almost 45 minutes for the 15 minute loop shuttle and other people told me they had been there an hour. It wasn’t just visitors complaining, either. One volunteer I spoke to, who first started helping with the festivals in 2005, was disappointed in the show management this year.

“No organization, no support for volunteers,” she said. While she had been told there was nothing for her to do, we’d been desperate for help handling visitors down on our dock. This was the first year for new organizers, Draw Events of Duluth, where it turns out they have gotten similar complaints at the Duluth Tall Ships Festival. They’re also under fire, it turns out, for allegedly copying the duck design from a Dutch artist without credit or compensation.

Perhaps the most egregious example, from the perspective of the visiting vessels, was the crew party scheduled for Sunday night. At the last minute, we got word that it was no longer going to be held at the Tacoma Yacht Club, but instead shifted to the Rock The Dock Pub near the Maritime Museum. It was a sensible location, but it had some fatal flaws: not enough tickets were available to cover food and drink for every crew member, and it was a tavern — no one under 21 was allowed in.

Sailors under 21 weren’t welcome at the festival closing party.

For an event with several sail training ships listed as the prime attractions, this was an unconscionable oversight. As we walked the docks, we saw lonely kids sitting around on Lady Washington and Zodiac eating cold sandwiches while their older mates whooped it up at the bar.

We thought the whole thing was a little puzzling. I’d chatted with TYC Commodore Jim Martinek when he’d come aboard Lotus earlier in the weekend and he’d made it clear how excited the club was to host the crews and how, it being Father’s Day Weekend and the restaurant there customarily packed, they had bent over backward to get things ready for the festival party.

On a hunch, we piled into a car and headed out to TYC.

It turned out the party hadn’t been moved at all. The crews had just been disinvited from the venue enjoyed by the event staff. Minnesotans and event staff were enjoying the food and amazing sunset views from the club deck.

Martinek, standing in the lobby, greeted us as we walked in.

“We were told to expect 120 people,” he said, looking around the half-empty dining room.

But, as sailors do, the crews adapted, even when a junction box on the Dock Street Marina started arcing and spitting smoke on Saturday afternoon. Fortunately, it was the same dock the Tacoma Fire Department where was showing off one of their fireboats and the firefighters quickly took the matter in hand. Unfortunately, the box was right at the base of the access ramp, which had to be closed while crews searched for the supply cut off.

Defiance on-duty during a small marina fire during the event.

The firefighters quickly swung Defiance around and nosed her into the beach while leaving the stern up against the dock, creating an impromptu bridge for evacuating people trapped by the incident.

Although, by all rights, the crowds and crews could each have been testy, there’s something about being on the water that tends to set things right. I saw nothing but smiles, heard nothing but compliments, and received nothing but assistance from marina staff, attendees, and event volunteers while on the boat.

Visitors enjoy Lotus’ swank turn-of-the-century saloon.

After the gates had closed and everyone had cleared out on Sunday night, a strange feeling came over me. I ducked out onto the afterdeck and looked around. It took me a minute to realize what it was.

The World’s Largest Duck was gone. It had been deflated and towed away and I had never even noticed.

Read More Here ….

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[jeantparks]

Everybody duck! The ups and downs of the 2017 Tacoma Festival of Sail

There are a lot of things that go through your mind as you are about to be run down by the World’s Largest Duck, but the thought that I remember best is, “This is the most ridiculous nautical incident I have ever been involved with.”

And that’s saying a lot.

Moments before things got too busy to take pictures.

I was standing on the aft deck of the M/V Lotus, a 1909 cruising houseboat I was crewing aboard at Tacoma’s 2017 Festival of Sail. It was raining, a light patter that had turned into slanted curtains of water as the wind picked up down the line of the Foss Waterway.

Now it was making the World’s Largest Duck, being towed back to its berth inboard of us at the Dock Street Marina in front of the new promenade at the Museum of Glass, a real handful for the three small craft trying to shunt it into place.

It was going to be a tight fit no matter what. They had to make a sharp corner ahead of the Hawaiian Chieftain, scrape past the bowsprit of the Mycia, and power up into the powerful current coming down the waterway to tuck back into the dock.

Engines roared and tensions flared on the tow boats and those of us spectating from our own vessels nervously began to unlimber boat hooks as the big bird lurched menacingly around the waterway. Aboard the S/V Thane, moored next to us, skipper Pete Reid shinnied out onto his bowsprit armed with a boat hook to do battle with the beast as it lunged toward him, a modern-day Ahab jabbing at his own great yellow whale.

Although it must have looked comical from shore, the six stories worth of bright yellow sail area was perched on top of a sharp-edged metal barge that could have turned any of our wooden hulls into kindling.

People line up to visit Lady Washington.

I pushed off one of the towboats as it slid into Lotus‘ transom, then took their tow line and secured it to our stern bitt while the other boats used us as a pivot to swing the duck around safely past Pete and finally, breathlessly, into its slip.

And that was just the first day.

It was also the day of the Parade of Sail, with an iffy forecast that caused our captain to cancel Lotus‘ participation. Since we were scheduled to be one of the parade waypoints, this was likely to be a disappointment to the organizers, and as the least senior crewperson I was left to deliver the bad news at the captain’s meeting that morning.

Fortunately, my mumbled apology was quickly subsumed by more critical issues — the ships had only received the parade schedule and instructions a couple days before and no one had a chance to adequately prepare. In the case of Virginia V, set to lead off the procession, this meant that the departure time had been confused with the parade start time. With only an hour until departure, there was no engineer on board — and three hours were required to raise steam.

But despite a late start, missing waypoint, and pouring rain, the parade was pulled off creditably and the tall ships strutted their stuff through Commencement Bay and announced the formal start of the festival.

With Friday came sun and crowds. Almost 900 people filed through Lotus, so many that I got a blister on my clicker finger from counting. I got sick of the inevitable look of wonder and the exclamations that come from anyone stepping into her stately saloon for the first time.

Outside, the graceful dome of the U.S. Courthouse smiled down benevolently on the masts and flags, and the Museum of Glass provided a sweeping backdrop to the Dock Street venue. The marina — clean, new and staffed by helpful and courteous hands — is a first-rate facility in an excellent location, and the Thea Foss Waterway embraces Tacoma’s nautical heritage in a way that sometimes-snobby Seattle can’t compete with.

Despite this, as we had brought Lotus in to dock, our crew had debated the reasons that Tacoma continues to get a bad rap and fewer visitors than it deserves after putting so much effort into revamping the waterfront.

Our captain, who has deep nautical and family roots in the area, had the answer.

“It doesn’t matter what you do to it,” he said philosophically. “It’s still Tacoma.”

But Tacoma turned out for the tall ships, sending an estimated 120,000 people down to see us over the weekend. At least, those that managed to catch a glimpse of us around the sides of the six-story duck.

Skipper Pete Reid of the Thane, a Spray replica homeported in Victoria, chats with visitors on the docks.

The controversy that embroiled the duck at its next destination in Canada was entirely absent on the docks in Tacoma. Although there were some snide remarks and a good deal of kvetching among crews whose boats the duck eclipsed, for the most part it was recognized that, tacky as it was, the massive yellow bird was bringing people onto the docks and past the boats.

And while some past iterations of the festival have had rougher crowds, the kid-friendly aspect of the duck-centered hoopla brought families to the festival and introduced a new generation of Pacific Northwesterners to many of the classic boats that are our heritage here.

Helping drive home that heritage, the Foss Waterway Seaport Museum opened its doors for free. With the flags flapping on the tall ships outside and echoes of “Sloop John B” coming from the band outside, kids flocked to the Lego exhibits inside to try their own hand at shipbuilding.

Hands-on shipbuilding at the Foss Waterway Seaport.

But the secret of any festival is that the best parts are after hours. With the crowds away, crews visited with one another and caught up, talked shop or told sea stories, played music and shared meals. Wonderful spicy scents wafted around the docks and laughter rippled across the water.

On Lotus, we retired to the upper deck with stir fry and drinks to enjoy the balmy evening air as night fell. Across the dock, Captain Pete strummed gently on his banjo and the music drifted across the upper deck as we talked late into the evening of foreign lands, adventures and vessels we had known. The duck loomed ominously in the background, silhouetted by the city lights.

On both Saturday and Sunday we clocked more than 1,800 visitors aboard Lotus; Zodiac had over 2,000, despite being out for day sails at times. An estimated 120,000 people showed up over the weekend.

For the most part, the crowd seemed to have fun despite poor organization and planning. A litany of complaints came from attendees, not about the boats or crews, but about the event itself: Long lines (in part due to inconsistent policies that kept the docks almost empty at times), missed sailing, transportation issues, missing signage, lack of seating, few food options.

I waited almost 45 minutes for the 15 minute loop shuttle and other people told me they had been there an hour. It wasn’t just visitors complaining, either. One volunteer I spoke to, who first started helping with the festivals in 2005, was disappointed in the show management this year.

“No organization, no support for volunteers,” she said. While she had been told there was nothing for her to do, we’d been desperate for help handling visitors down on our dock. This was the first year for new organizers, Draw Events of Duluth, where it turns out they have gotten similar complaints at the Duluth Tall Ships Festival. They’re also under fire, it turns out, for allegedly copying the duck design from a Dutch artist without credit or compensation.

Perhaps the most egregious example, from the perspective of the visiting vessels, was the crew party scheduled for Sunday night. At the last minute, we got word that it was no longer going to be held at the Tacoma Yacht Club, but instead shifted to the Rock The Dock Pub near the Maritime Museum. It was a sensible location, but it had some fatal flaws: not enough tickets were available to cover food and drink for every crew member, and it was a tavern — no one under 21 was allowed in.

Sailors under 21 weren’t welcome at the festival closing party.

For an event with several sail training ships listed as the prime attractions, this was an unconscionable oversight. As we walked the docks, we saw lonely kids sitting around on Lady Washington and Zodiac eating cold sandwiches while their older mates whooped it up at the bar.

We thought the whole thing was a little puzzling. I’d chatted with TYC Commodore Jim Martinek when he’d come aboard Lotus earlier in the weekend and he’d made it clear how excited the club was to host the crews and how, it being Father’s Day Weekend and the restaurant there customarily packed, they had bent over backward to get things ready for the festival party.

On a hunch, we piled into a car and headed out to TYC.

It turned out the party hadn’t been moved at all. The crews had just been disinvited from the venue enjoyed by the event staff. Minnesotans and event staff were enjoying the food and amazing sunset views from the club deck.

Martinek, standing in the lobby, greeted us as we walked in.

“We were told to expect 120 people,” he said, looking around the half-empty dining room.

But, as sailors do, the crews adapted, even when a junction box on the Dock Street Marina started arcing and spitting smoke on Saturday afternoon. Fortunately, it was the same dock the Tacoma Fire Department where was showing off one of their fireboats and the firefighters quickly took the matter in hand. Unfortunately, the box was right at the base of the access ramp, which had to be closed while crews searched for the supply cut off.

Defiance on-duty during a small marina fire during the event.

The firefighters quickly swung Defiance around and nosed her into the beach while leaving the stern up against the dock, creating an impromptu bridge for evacuating people trapped by the incident.

Although, by all rights, the crowds and crews could each have been testy, there’s something about being on the water that tends to set things right. I saw nothing but smiles, heard nothing but compliments, and received nothing but assistance from marina staff, attendees, and event volunteers while on the boat.

Visitors enjoy Lotus’ swank turn-of-the-century saloon.

After the gates had closed and everyone had cleared out on Sunday night, a strange feeling came over me. I ducked out onto the afterdeck and looked around. It took me a minute to realize what it was.

The World’s Largest Duck was gone. It had been deflated and towed away and I had never even noticed.

Read More Here ….

The post Everybody duck! The ups and downs of the 2017 Tacoma Festival of Sail appeared first on YachtAweigh.

source http://yachtaweigh.com/everybody-duck-the-ups-and-downs-of-the-2017-tacoma-festival-of-sail/ from http://yatchaweigh.blogspot.com/2017/06/everybody-duck-ups-and-downs-of-2017.html

[yachtaweigh]

Everybody duck! The ups and downs of the 2017 Tacoma Festival of Sail

There are a lot of things that go through your mind as you are about to be run down by the World’s Largest Duck, but the thought that I remember best is, “This is the most ridiculous nautical incident I have ever been involved with.”

And that’s saying a lot.

Moments before things got too busy to take pictures.

I was standing on the aft deck of the M/V Lotus, a 1909 cruising houseboat I was crewing aboard at Tacoma’s 2017 Festival of Sail. It was raining, a light patter that had turned into slanted curtains of water as the wind picked up down the line of the Foss Waterway.

Now it was making the World’s Largest Duck, being towed back to its berth inboard of us at the Dock Street Marina in front of the new promenade at the Museum of Glass, a real handful for the three small craft trying to shunt it into place.

It was going to be a tight fit no matter what. They had to make a sharp corner ahead of the Hawaiian Chieftain, scrape past the bowsprit of the Mycia, and power up into the powerful current coming down the waterway to tuck back into the dock.

Engines roared and tensions flared on the tow boats and those of us spectating from our own vessels nervously began to unlimber boat hooks as the big bird lurched menacingly around the waterway. Aboard the S/V Thane, moored next to us, skipper Pete Reid shinnied out onto his bowsprit armed with a boat hook to do battle with the beast as it lunged toward him, a modern-day Ahab jabbing at his own great yellow whale.

Although it must have looked comical from shore, the six stories worth of bright yellow sail area was perched on top of a sharp-edged metal barge that could have turned any of our wooden hulls into kindling.

People line up to visit Lady Washington.

I pushed off one of the towboats as it slid into Lotus‘ transom, then took their tow line and secured it to our stern bitt while the other boats used us as a pivot to swing the duck around safely past Pete and finally, breathlessly, into its slip.

And that was just the first day.

It was also the day of the Parade of Sail, with an iffy forecast that caused our captain to cancel Lotus‘ participation. Since we were scheduled to be one of the parade waypoints, this was likely to be a disappointment to the organizers, and as the least senior crewperson I was left to deliver the bad news at the captain’s meeting that morning.

Fortunately, my mumbled apology was quickly subsumed by more critical issues — the ships had only received the parade schedule and instructions a couple days before and no one had a chance to adequately prepare. In the case of Virginia V, set to lead off the procession, this meant that the departure time had been confused with the parade start time. With only an hour until departure, there was no engineer on board — and three hours were required to raise steam.

But despite a late start, missing waypoint, and pouring rain, the parade was pulled off creditably and the tall ships strutted their stuff through Commencement Bay and announced the formal start of the festival.

With Friday came sun and crowds. Almost 900 people filed through Lotus, so many that I got a blister on my clicker finger from counting. I got sick of the inevitable look of wonder and the exclamations that come from anyone stepping into her stately saloon for the first time.

Outside, the graceful dome of the U.S. Courthouse smiled down benevolently on the masts and flags, and the Museum of Glass provided a sweeping backdrop to the Dock Street venue. The marina — clean, new and staffed by helpful and courteous hands — is a first-rate facility in an excellent location, and the Thea Foss Waterway embraces Tacoma’s nautical heritage in a way that sometimes-snobby Seattle can’t compete with.

Despite this, as we had brought Lotus in to dock, our crew had debated the reasons that Tacoma continues to get a bad rap and fewer visitors than it deserves after putting so much effort into revamping the waterfront.

Our captain, who has deep nautical and family roots in the area, had the answer.

“It doesn’t matter what you do to it,” he said philosophically. “It’s still Tacoma.”

But Tacoma turned out for the tall ships, sending an estimated 120,000 people down to see us over the weekend. At least, those that managed to catch a glimpse of us around the sides of the six-story duck.

Skipper Pete Reid of the Thane, a Spray replica homeported in Victoria, chats with visitors on the docks.

The controversy that embroiled the duck at its next destination in Canada was entirely absent on the docks in Tacoma. Although there were some snide remarks and a good deal of kvetching among crews whose boats the duck eclipsed, for the most part it was recognized that, tacky as it was, the massive yellow bird was bringing people onto the docks and past the boats.

And while some past iterations of the festival have had rougher crowds, the kid-friendly aspect of the duck-centered hoopla brought families to the festival and introduced a new generation of Pacific Northwesterners to many of the classic boats that are our heritage here.

Helping drive home that heritage, the Foss Waterway Seaport Museum opened its doors for free. With the flags flapping on the tall ships outside and echoes of “Sloop John B” coming from the band outside, kids flocked to the Lego exhibits inside to try their own hand at shipbuilding.

Hands-on shipbuilding at the Foss Waterway Seaport.

But the secret of any festival is that the best parts are after hours. With the crowds away, crews visited with one another and caught up, talked shop or told sea stories, played music and shared meals. Wonderful spicy scents wafted around the docks and laughter rippled across the water.

On Lotus, we retired to the upper deck with stir fry and drinks to enjoy the balmy evening air as night fell. Across the dock, Captain Pete strummed gently on his banjo and the music drifted across the upper deck as we talked late into the evening of foreign lands, adventures and vessels we had known. The duck loomed ominously in the background, silhouetted by the city lights.

On both Saturday and Sunday we clocked more than 1,800 visitors aboard Lotus; Zodiac had over 2,000, despite being out for day sails at times. An estimated 120,000 people showed up over the weekend.

For the most part, the crowd seemed to have fun despite poor organization and planning. A litany of complaints came from attendees, not about the boats or crews, but about the event itself: Long lines (in part due to inconsistent policies that kept the docks almost empty at times), missed sailing, transportation issues, missing signage, lack of seating, few food options.

I waited almost 45 minutes for the 15 minute loop shuttle and other people told me they had been there an hour. It wasn’t just visitors complaining, either. One volunteer I spoke to, who first started helping with the festivals in 2005, was disappointed in the show management this year.

“No organization, no support for volunteers,” she said. While she had been told there was nothing for her to do, we’d been desperate for help handling visitors down on our dock. This was the first year for new organizers, Draw Events of Duluth, where it turns out they have gotten similar complaints at the Duluth Tall Ships Festival. They’re also under fire, it turns out, for allegedly copying the duck design from a Dutch artist without credit or compensation.

Perhaps the most egregious example, from the perspective of the visiting vessels, was the crew party scheduled for Sunday night. At the last minute, we got word that it was no longer going to be held at the Tacoma Yacht Club, but instead shifted to the Rock The Dock Pub near the Maritime Museum. It was a sensible location, but it had some fatal flaws: not enough tickets were available to cover food and drink for every crew member, and it was a tavern — no one under 21 was allowed in.

Sailors under 21 weren’t welcome at the festival closing party.

For an event with several sail training ships listed as the prime attractions, this was an unconscionable oversight. As we walked the docks, we saw lonely kids sitting around on Lady Washington and Zodiac eating cold sandwiches while their older mates whooped it up at the bar.

We thought the whole thing was a little puzzling. I’d chatted with TYC Commodore Jim Martinek when he’d come aboard Lotus earlier in the weekend and he’d made it clear how excited the club was to host the crews and how, it being Father’s Day Weekend and the restaurant there customarily packed, they had bent over backward to get things ready for the festival party.

On a hunch, we piled into a car and headed out to TYC.

It turned out the party hadn’t been moved at all. The crews had just been disinvited from the venue enjoyed by the event staff. Minnesotans and event staff were enjoying the food and amazing sunset views from the club deck.

Martinek, standing in the lobby, greeted us as we walked in.

“We were told to expect 120 people,” he said, looking around the half-empty dining room.

But, as sailors do, the crews adapted, even when a junction box on the Dock Street Marina started arcing and spitting smoke on Saturday afternoon. Fortunately, it was the same dock the Tacoma Fire Department where was showing off one of their fireboats and the firefighters quickly took the matter in hand. Unfortunately, the box was right at the base of the access ramp, which had to be closed while crews searched for the supply cut off.

Defiance on-duty during a small marina fire during the event.

The firefighters quickly swung Defiance around and nosed her into the beach while leaving the stern up against the dock, creating an impromptu bridge for evacuating people trapped by the incident.

Although, by all rights, the crowds and crews could each have been testy, there’s something about being on the water that tends to set things right. I saw nothing but smiles, heard nothing but compliments, and received nothing but assistance from marina staff, attendees, and event volunteers while on the boat.

Visitors enjoy Lotus’ swank turn-of-the-century saloon.

After the gates had closed and everyone had cleared out on Sunday night, a strange feeling came over me. I ducked out onto the afterdeck and looked around. It took me a minute to realize what it was.

The World’s Largest Duck was gone. It had been deflated and towed away and I had never even noticed.

Read More Here ….

The post Everybody duck! The ups and downs of the 2017 Tacoma Festival of Sail appeared first on YachtAweigh.

from http://yachtaweigh.com/everybody-duck-the-ups-and-downs-of-the-2017-tacoma-festival-of-sail/

[gunboatbaylodge]

Behind the Scenes of Pride 2017 with the Vancouver Pride Society

Photo by Clayton Perry | Flickr

By Angus Praught

Pride is less than two months away, and the Vancouver Pride Society is getting set to welcome locals and visitors alike to celebrate!

Leading up to the first weekend of August 2017, Vancouver will be aglow with Pride as hotels fill up, party ticket sales are in overdrive, smart coiffures de rigueur and fabulous outfits galore parade the catwalk on Davie Street. When Pride season hits Vancouver and the glitziest party lineup of the year is about to kick off, you can feel the energy take over the city.

Davie Street Party | Photo courtesy of Gayvan.com

On Friday August 4th, with the Jim Deva Plaza freshly scrubbed, and the rainbow crosswalks and rainbow banners in Davie Village shining brightly, restaurants and bar patios will be fully-stocked and local residents and merchants alike will be preparing to close the streets to celebrate the start to Pride weekend, with the dazzling Davie Street Party.

The full lineup actually starts weeks before, with annual events such as East Side Pride on June 24th, and the Pride Run/Walk and Pride-Sports-Day on July 22, setting the stage for the eye-popping calendar of events that make up Vancouver Pride, including the 39th annual Pride Parade and Pride Festival at Sunset Beach.

Kieran Burgess and Andrea Arnot | Photo courtesy of Gayvan.com

Putting all this fabulousness together takes a dedicated team of professionals behind the scenes, year-round, and we’re going to chat with Andrea Arnot (AA) and Kieran Burgess (KB), co-executive directors of the Vancouver Pride Society, to get the inside scoop for 2017.

Angus Praught: Hello Andrea and Kieran; it’s no doubt a crazy time of year in the Vancouver Pride Society offices and we appreciate you taking the time to speak with us. Can you tell us a bit about yourselves, and what are your roles with the Vancouver Pride Society?

Andrea Arnot: I first moved to BC when I was two years old, and am originally from Ontario. I also lived in Papua New Guinea from ages ten to seventeen, which has influenced my work on diversity and inclusion. I have lived in Vancouver’s West End since 2006, and have worked with the Vancouver Pride Society since March, 2016.

Kieran Burgess: I have been in Vancouver since November 2015, and am originally from Brisbane Australia. My background is primarily in major events in northern Europe and Asia Pacific, and started with the Vancouver Pride Society about two weeks before Andrea in 2016.

AP: Can you tell us about your roles and responsibilities?

AA: I’m the fun one; ha ha! My title is co-executive director of events, and my responsibilities include managing the event side of things, including volunteers, and I oversee a team who are involved in planning our events. Our roles are very intertwined, obviously, as we’re running an organization that primarily focuses on events, but my role focuses on getting all of the permits and plans for the events done.

KB: My role primarily focuses on the budget and governance, including record keeping, bookkeeping, media partnerships, and corporate partnerships. I’m “money in” and Andrea is “money out”, so to speak.

AA: Yes, his side makes money, and my side spends it!

Photo courtesy of Gayvan.com

AP: Can you give us a sense of when the planning for each year begins and what are first steps?

AA: Yes, planning starts immediately after Pride Week. We give ourselves the Monday after Pride off, which is the holiday, and then we bring all of our staff in for the next two weeks, to distribute surveys, and check in with all of our partners, suppliers, participants and performers, about their experiences. We also gather all of the data and feedback collected, which helps our planning process and begin our permit process and decisions on events for the following year, in the fall.

KB: Yes, we start right away and within one or two weeks are already planning for next year, and looking for new partners as well. Glenn, who works in partnerships, refers to August as harvest season.

Photo courtesy of Gayvan.com

AP: What kind of official preparations need to be made; for example, with the city, police, the parks board, etc.?

AA: Well, in putting on the Pride series of events, it’s not just the parade; we do multiple events and multiple kinds of events. We work closely with the City of Vancouver, obviously, and we have civic status, which helps us with our policing, sanitation, traffic costs, and things like that. We also work with the liquor board, with the special events office, and the parks board, as our events are spread out throughout the city, so it is a very complex permitting process that we go through.

AP: It takes a large number of partners to pull this off. Can you give us an idea of the kind of partners that participate?

KB: We have our core partners, our presenting partners such as TD, and a whole host of other partners such as Fido, Microsoft, and other big name corporate partners. We then have a community partners portfolio, and partners we support through resources and financial assistance, and then we have government partners, such as federal funding, provincial funding, and the City of Vancouver. We have the size to attract that level of partnerships, so can then use that to redistribute back to smaller community partners. We also have a number of media partners, TV, radio, print and digital, across a number of formats. We have partnerships with Global, CTV, Bell Media, Rogers, Corus; we work with all of them, as well as major radio stations and have good relationships with most media outlets in the city.

AP: Coordinating the Parade and Festival participants is a huge undertaking. Can you speak briefly about this process?

AA: Well yes, one thing that a lot of people do not know, is that we have a parade working group, made up of myself, and community members, and we review every single parade application that comes in. This year we developed a matrix to score each application to ensure that we have our strongest allies in the parade, so we score the entries based on what their entry looks like, how fun and energetic it will be, but mostly on what their organizational values are and how they align with the Vancouver Pride Society’s, as well as what other initiatives they engage in throughout the year, whether internally within their own organization, or outside in the LGBTQ community. We also check if they have policies and procedures in place around inclusive hiring practices, diversity statements, if they include sexual orientation and gender identity and expression as something they do not discriminate against, and if they have anti-discrimination and anti-bullying policies; so we ask for actual policies from organizations, to ensure that they are in fact, allies marching in the parade. It is quite an involved process to review each application, and so that’s how people get into the parade.

KB: Another thing to say about it, is there is always a controversy every year. For example, last year we started a discussion about police in the parade, and we [have released] a statement to that effect, that outlines our way forward for this year, and the preface for that is that it is an ongoing conversation year to year, so the decisions made this year aren’t forever, but are our steps for this year.

AA: We are not partisan, but we are definitely political, like Pride is political inherently, and so we have done things in the past, like our Trans Equality Pledge, which was not popular with some people, but we persisted with that, and will continue with that until Bill C-16 is passed, and so we do engage in advocacy and politics, but we are not partisan.

Photo courtesy of Gayvan.com

AP: It also takes a large team of volunteers to put on the parade. Can you give us an idea of how many volunteers it takes and what they do?

AA: We definitely rely on volunteers to make our events happen, as we have a small staff of four in our off season, and ten or eleven during our full season, so that’s not a lot to put on the scale of events that we do. On Parade and Festival day alone, we have 200 volunteers and throughout our whole season, we have approximately 350 to 400 volunteers that we engage, which is basically June through August.

AP: Can you give us a brief overview of Vancouver Pride in this 39th year, and a hint of what’s new this season?

KB: There are no major changes to the parade route, but we are bringing back Pride-Sports-Day, which was formerly the Pride Picnic in the Park, and it will be at Sunset beach, rather than the park and it will be a week earlier, on July 22nd. We have renamed the Legacy Awards the StandOut Awards, with the same premise, but with new categories and have revamped it to try to tap into the younger people who are doing good work in our community. The old categories were very restrictive, so this is our way of opening up to a whole new pool of candidates to receive awards. Pride Premiere is a new event that will take place in Robson Square, with a community zone up top, and down below will be a beer garden with entertainment, which is sort of an introduction to Pride for the downtown crowd. The Pride Proclamation location is TBD at this point, and there will be Pride Gateway in Jim Deva Plaza for the whole Pride Week, from the first fireworks on Saturday, through the final Sunday night of Pride. It will have these cool things called cloud swings, an interactive lighted Pride obelisk, as well as other events in the plaza throughout the week. In addition to all of the regular events, we will also have a Pride movie night on Tuesday, a yet-to-be-confirmed new event for Wednesday night, a human rights panel with the Canadian International Council on Thursday to discuss LGBTQ2+ immigration issues, and the BC Lions will be playing a Pride Game on the Sunday afternoon, in addition to the Parade and Festival. We are also partnering with the West End BIA and the Downtown BIA on some of the new initiatives.

AA: We are really excited to be hosting the Pride Premiere event downtown for the first time this year. As Kieran mentioned, we are having the beer garden and entertainment on the lower level, and at street level we’re having a pop-up Queer 101 party for the public, we will have our community partners there with educational resources and interactive games, we’ll have roaming performers, the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence will be there, we’ll have drag performers, and some interactive art installations, such as the love bus, and the pink ball pit where anyone can go in, not just children. We’re excited to be out of the west end for that event, and be right downtown in the middle of people shopping and going home from work, so we can have an evening showing this is what we are, and this is what we do.

AP: Well congratulations to you both on all you do, and that certainly is a lot to be excited about this year. Thank you both very much for giving us an insider’s peak of Vancouver Pride 2017. Happy Pride!

AA & KB: Happy Pride!

2017 is shaping up to be the most spectacular Vancouver Pride season ever and there is so much going on, that we can’t possibly include it all here. Feel free to visit vancouverpride.ca, for all the sensational details.

Angus Praught is president of Gayvan.com Travel Marketing, a Vancouver-based company featuring LGBTQ2+ welcoming destinations, in the Vancouver region, Canada, and beyond.

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Inside Vancouver Blog

[junker-town]

Heartbreak and elation at the Westminster Dog show

A tail of two dogs’ journeys on the biggest stage of the year.

NEW YORK — Michael drove all the way from Alabama for this. Well, technically, Brandi Murray, the woman in a pearl-colored, sequined skirt suit running a hairbrush over Michael’s back drove him. Michael can’t drive, because Michael is a dog, and dogs don’t have opposable thumbs, which makes gripping a steering wheel difficult.

But Murray was more than happy to be the Finnish Lapphund’s chauffeur, because Michael’s big moment at the Westminster Kennel Club dog show in New York City on Monday was also Murray’s big moment: As his handler, she always has a vested interest in how brightly he shines.

So Murray brushed Michael near his little dog cubby, in the cavernous space of Pier 94 in Chelsea, as though he were a junior getting ready to go prom with a senior. She fussed over his tail, wondering out loud why it wasn’t standing up, then realized if she and Michael didn’t head over to Ring 7 immediately, they’d be late for the competition in which Michael had to prove to a judge that he was the most beautiful of all the Finnish Lapphunds.

The two of them took off, half-jogging over to the wide open expanse of green carpet where canine dreams of greatness either come true or shatter into a million pieces like a crushed-up dog bone.

I half-jogged along behind them. Murray looked back over her shoulder occasionally as she told me she’s been a handler for 18 and a half years. We dodged our way through the obstacle course of other dogs and similarly dressed handlers. Murray has seven Finnish Lapphunds, and she won “Best in Breed” in 2014 with a dog named Storm. She had high hopes for Michael, whom she started calling Michael once he was no longer a puppy; Michelangelo, his full name, just started to seem too long. I didn’t tell her that Michelangelo is a turtle name, not a dog name, because I didn’t want to be rude.

Now, forgive me if you’ve been to the Westminster dog show before and know all this, but I have to tell you what it feels like, as a dog person who hasn’t pet a dog in a while, to walk into a convention center filled with dogs. And not only dogs, but the best dogs, dogs that dog eugenics have deemed the most pure. The best comparison I can make is that it’s like that first really cold beer on a Friday afternoon at 4:30 after a long week. Or that bubbly happiness you get when you haven’t had a crush for a while and then go to a party and unexpectedly hit it off with someone. It is at once relief, comfort, and pure delight.

It is also very purple. Everything — the signage, the carpets, the lanyard my press pass came on — could pass for the trappings of a Prince tribute show. But, honestly, if you really want to know what a dog show is like, just watch Best In Show (a film widely regarded by film studies professors as the most brilliant cinematic masterpiece of all time). I can now confirm that it is spot on.

In my happily overwhelmed state, I lost Michael and Murray. I’d gotten sidetracked by the need to pet several other dogs and tell them how good they were, including a German Shepherd named Ridge and a foxhound named Jackson. I passed some dogs who resembled mops, a few who looked like they’d had their hair straightened, and one who looked like it were made of the tassels that come on graduation caps.

All the dogs I pet were very clean. You don’t realize how dirty most of the dogs your friends and family have until you pet one at a dog show.

The handlers at dog shows are all very neat and clean, too, and they all wear suits, I learned on Monday. I asked a handler standing next to a bunch of coonhounds if there was a dress code, and she said, “everyone wears their Sunday best, you know what I’m saying?” She also said that many of them like outfits with “bling,” because it sparkles on camera. The amount of sequins around me proved her point.

When I finally got to Ring 7, a steward was telling Michael and Murray, along with seven or eight other Finnish Lapphunds and their handlers, that “we’ll have the dogs head in, and then the bitches.” I didn’t laugh, even when he said, “okay, now let’s get the bitches in.”

The judge, whose name was Mr. Walter J. Sommerfelt, stood near the entrance to the ring, but I wasn’t allowed to talk to him, the steward said, because he had no time. He was very busy judging dogs.

I don’t totally understand how the judging of a dog show works, despite all the explanations I got from a few different handlers, but Mr. Walter J. Sommerfelt appeared to check the dogs’ teeth, grab their haunches, pinch their tails, and then watch them and their handlers run around the ring before ultimately awarding one dog “best in breed,” and then bestowing two others with second and third place.

But second and third place are not called second and third place; second place is called something that I can’t remember and that Google isn’t helping me find, and third place is called “select.” I learned this when one of the handlers, a 13-year-old named Emma Rodgers, corrected me after I congratulated her on her third place ribbon. She is a young lady who is going places.

While Mr. Walter J. Sommerfelt poked and prodded Michael and his competitors, I made friends with Bienna, a Norwegian Buhund, and her handler, Amy Mclaughlin, who were waiting to enter the ring for the next round of judging after the Finnish Lapphunds. Bienna and Mclaughlin were from Seattle, where Mclaughlin works for a guy who shows people’s dogs for them. But Bienna is Mclaughlin’s own personal dog and a four-time “Best in Breed” champion, a record for the American Kennel Club.

I was star-struck.

“What is it like to be a celebrity dog?” I asked the smallish, white dog.

Bienna stared at me with her mouth open, but I don’t speak Norwegian Buhund, so Mclaughlin had to translate.

“She says, ‘I love it,’” Mclaughlin said, looking at Bienna then at me. “This is her life. She absolutely adores it. She also says, ‘Mom, I love this. I love the show ring.’”

I realized I’d been neglecting Michael. I turned around and was dismayed to see a different Finnish Lapphund sitting in the middle of the ring next to a basket of big yellow flowers as Mr. Walter J. Sommerfelt handed it a “Best in Breed” certificate. A photographer took the not-Michael dog’s picture as someone behind it tossed a rubber chicken in the direction the dog was supposed to look for the photo, so that the dog would actually look in that direction.

The chicken squeaked as it landed on the ground. The shutter clicked. The flash went off.

Murray and Michael stood next to the ring. They hadn’t won anything, and Murray was upset because Mr. Walter J. Sommerfelt had looked at Michael for a long time, which is usually a good sign, but in this case was simply false hope. I asked how she felt.

“I just never know what they’re thinking,” Murray said in her Southern accent. “It is nerve-wracking. It’s a lot of anxiety.”

She laughed and then sighed. Michael jumped up on me.

“It’s a lot of needing Klonopin and Xanaz,” Murray continued. “I’m gonna go to the hotel, and have a early dinner, and take a couple drinks, and go to sleep. I gotta get up early, I have to go to Pittsburgh to pick something up, then I have to drive to North Carolina and pick up two clients before we go back to Alabama.”

I asked if the clients were dogs. Murray said they were. I pet Michael one last time, and then he and Murray left the ring. He smiled, blissfully unaware that he hadn’t won, because he is a dog.

Then I turned my attention back to Bienna, who Mclaughlin had already paraded around. Mr. Walter J. Sommerfelt was pointing at Bienna, and I realized he was awarding her “Best in Breed!” For the fifth time!

Mclaughin picked up Bienna and squeezed her, then put her down and headed to the middle of the ring for the requisite photo next to the basket of yellow flowers. Winning meant that Bienna and Mclaughling would be going on to the big event at Madison Square Garden on Tuesday night, where they’d compete for Best in Show. I thought of the greatness that lay ahead, and asked Mclaughlin how she felt.

“For Bienna, being only three months out of having puppies, and this being only her second show since September of last year?” Mclaughlin shook her head. “She showed like a rockstar.”

I asked if Bienna had a statement. Mclaughlin bent down to pet her, and, I’m guessing, listen to what she had to say.

“She says, ‘Thank you so much,” Mclaughlin translated. “Thank you, so much, to all my fans.”