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#like every day is grey or soup recently which means that time no longer matters thanks
midnightrecording · 8 months
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Satire U.K. 2023
The Houses of Parliament had vanished, but everyone acted as if they were still there. Quite where they’d gone, it was unclear. There was no wreckage left behind, no tell-tale signs of terrorism, no clues. Just a big empty gap next to the River Thames.
Every time people walked through Westminster, they saw people just hovering in mid-air, where offices used to be.
A car sped down the street. The driver was someone who was working on a West End adaptation of an epic poem satirizing a recent government. The car screeched to a halt, and the driver left his car parked in front of the entrance to a food bank.
He rushed up several flights of non-existent stairs to where an office should have been. It was instead just a group of hovering people, about 30 meters high. Everyone was delighted about the man’s script, which really stuck it to some other people with OBEs that he’d met a couple of times at a party.
Outside, people were clambering over his car in order to get some soup.
Nearby, in one of the city’s few remaining studios, a topical comedy panel show was being recorded. Nothing of worth had ever been produced during each three hour long filming session, and the same would hold for today.
The jokes involved some light mockery of a man who had been responsible for the deaths of millions, and who the show had helped promote. No matter how much those involved denied it, they went to bed every night knowing that.
Not too far away, where a block of newspaper offices technically should have been located, Tory and Labour MPs danced with reporters in mid-air. On the ground below, young kids glanced up and flipped them the bird. Even if they’d noticed, those above wouldn’t have cared.
A grey yellowish fog billowed over the city from nowhere in particular. Over a tannoy system the words came: “On January 30th 1978, a terrible crime was committed in the streets of Peterborough. Two young boys, no more than 10, were brutally murdered by one of their own family. Today, we’ll be taking a look at the events in which…“ The voice was interrupted by an 80s synth pop hit, being used to advertise stairlifts.
The reporters and politicians commenced a tango. A skeleton stood and watched, hovering along with everyone else.
For some time now, it had been the practice for many hard right individuals to gouge the flesh off their bodies and conduct their lives as skeletons, demanding other people rip the hair and skin and muscle off themselves and live as “the purest, most perfect form of a human being”.
It never stopped being a shock to see a popular Youtuber or Tiktoker address the camera, suddenly with most of their face gone, and to see the thumbnails slowly fill up over the coming days with an image of a skull making a shocked expression. They would usually be making a shocked expression at trans people.
Of course, those skeletons could also be seen hovering up with humans hundreds of feet in the sky, in buildings that were no longer there. Sometimes a typical London view resembled a curiously selective X-ray. Some of the skeletons began to ask if there was really any point in mourning people who were dead, seeing as those boys from Peterborough – to name just two of millions – were now clearly on “their side”.
It was unknown as to why the skeletons could live, yet other citizens simply died when removed of their musculature. Deep down a lot of people knew that evil was extremely hard to kill.
The smog hanging over everyone turned a deep red. The tannoy switched from a different 80s hit to John Cleese’s voice saying: “Well, I don’t know what the fuss is about, all this child death. They’re much more useful dead... I mean, honestly! Kids these days, with their genders, and their pronouns, and their circulatory systems…”
The thing about the phrase “things can’t go on like this” is that people do expect things to go on anyway. But there is always a breaking point.
And that breaking point was a massive arse sitting on London.
No one ever found out who the arse belonged to, but it seemed to be a female presenting one at the very least. The last thing many people in London saw was what appeared to be a giant beautiful peach bearing down on them…
Countless streets were crushed under voluptuous bumcheeks. The Prime Minister, who was on his way to pull pints in a pub as a see-through bit of publicity, was flattened to a pulp live on camera, along with the camera and the crew behind it and the journalists and all the lookers on.
Skeletons and humans alike were effortlessly destroyed, simply by the act of some sort of immense behind sitting down. What remained of the high streets in the capital were permanently shut down. So it went with ordinary houses, schools, and anyone and anything not hiding in the relative safety of the Underground.
John Cleese wept. (And then his head exploded from the sheer erotic power of the arse, a bit like in Scanners.)
Tannoys outside the London area said not to panic. People panicked. The tannoy systems melted under the intense red hot body heat of the nearby giant arse, and everyone’s phones went dead. It was time to worship a new god.
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edhelaran · 3 years
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𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 .
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1. What does your muse smell like?
A gentle breeze of lavender, especially his hair.    A breeze of mint or grapes in his breath, depending on whether he has had wine or was chewing on a mint leaf last ( which he does a lot to keep his mouth fresh throughout the long day ).    And when he goes out, he wears an opium fragrance for the fancy touch.    When he has spent a fair amount of time in the palace garden or the forest, he smells of fresh greens and earth for a while.    However, the lavender is ever present.
2. What do your muse’s hands feel like?
They are soft and usually very warm, though his left hand's skin feels uneven and smoother on some spots ( invisible remnants of scar tissue from the past burns ).    Despite how graceful his hands overall appear, his touch is not 'weak' at all and should he give you a handshake ( modern verse ), it’s more firm than one would assume by look.
3. What does your muse usually eat in a day?
Tol guy has lorge appetite.    He has a fairly fast metabolism and due to needing lots of energy during days stuffed with meetings or other stressful duty, he will always have at least a snack within reach.    His day starts with oatmeal into which fresh apple slices and berries are mixed.    Honeybutter bread after, fresh juice or a cup of fennel tea to drink.    Since his kids are adults and no longer need Thranduil as 'routine rolemodel', he tends to skip lunch and will instead have small snacks during work;  this way he has to force himself to take short breaks.    His snacks consist mainly of raw vegetables with sour dips, nuts, cheese sticks and if there was recently a hunt, there will be some grilled meat too.    The evenings are often spent with soups and/or salads plus light bread, a rich assortment of contents to add to said salad or put on the bread.    And depending on the mood he will have either lavender tea or a glass of wine; throughout the (after)noons he will preferably grab water.    He snacks cherries and raspberries too, in between ( day or night doesn’t matter ), in decent amounts because yum.
4. Does your muse have a good singing voice?
He does !    But he doesn't sing, sadly.    You may find him humming quietly when tending to the garden though, and when Legolas and later Tauriel were younger, he would have let himself be convinced to sing them a lullaby every once in a while.
5. Does your muse have any bad habits or nervous ticks?
He used to numb his pain with wine after getting burnt nigh beyond recognition etc., but it was soon replaced with him becoming pretty much a workaholic. Due to how treacherous body language can be, he generally takes care to display no abundance during formal meetings.    But at the same time he takes advantage of its usefulness by, for example, clasping his hands behind his back to signal he feels 100% safe or crossing his arms below his breast to convey that sb or smth irritates him.    What he can not control is how, when something makes him nervous, he either shifts in his seat or starts fumbling on the large blue ring.    He might also clear his throat when a conversation takes an uncomfortable direction, unless he can bite back that 'tick'.    If he is bored, he tends to drum with his fingertips on either the armrest of his chair or a table's surface ( assuming he sits or rests his hands on a surface ).    Though that latter habit is none he tries ever to suppress.
6. What does your muse usually look like / wear?
Since Oropher’s death, he wears his hair down.    This was an extremely cutting event which marked a new chapter in his life and he felt it appropriate to emphasize that by ceasing to wear his hair with braids.    It is always down and kept straight.    You will rarely ever see him sans jewelry on his fingers, except when he goes to war or works in the palace garden.    When it comes to attire, he wears dark trousers that are always skin-tight and flowing robes of satin or velvet that shimmer or glitter.    He prefers darker colors, primarily blue that symbolizes his deeply ingrained love for water that his ancestors were heavily associated with as well.    But he also likes dark reds, shades of silver and grey, sometimes might wrap himself in darker gold nuances coupled with earthy tones.    In modern verses, he usually wears suits and long coats.    Hardly less extravagant in color or pattern than his robes of earlier ages.    On his feet come only slim leather boots or nothing.    Even his morning robes are satin and visibly expensive.    He rejects underwear because for one, he feels more comfortable without and secondly, the seams of any underwear would probably be visible in his tight pants and he doesn't like that ppl could guess what he wears underneath it all. He is always clean and 'polished', doesn't make anyone guess that he's not opposed to getting his own hands dirty.
7. Is your muse affectionate?  How much?  How so?
With his loved ones, very much !    Though this is limited to private moments because he isn't the biggest fan of pda, separating strictly who he has to present in public and who he is behind the scenes.    Since he isn't good with verbal affection, he relies a lot on physical displays and actions like small gifts.    He gives the warmest bear hugs and enjoys braiding his kids' hair, also forehead touches are a big yes for him.    With his lovers he is no less affectionate, likes hand touches and cuddling muchly and is generous with kisses.    Be it on the lips, the cheeks, forehead or... actually anywhere.    He enjoys showering his love in kisses all over without it necessarily leading to sex, albeit he certainly enjoys it to deepen those affections when the mood strikes.    However, friends will sometimes have him touch their shoulder in passing or gently touch their cheek in reassurance.    He is very affectionate if he likes you, you see ?
8. What position does your muse sleep in?
The rare times he does actually sleep, it varies.    During times of evil basically living next door, he mainly would lie on his back to ever be ready to jump up if needed.    Which also means he did not sleep truly deep, still awake with one ear.    With peace settling, his position changed into more content ones, like on his side or preferably on his stomach and half his face buried in the pillows.    His arms and legs are stretched, in any direction that's comfy in that moment, so he's really sprawled with little room left on the already large bed.    Does he share his bed with a partner, spooning is how to go, with him preferably as the big spoon.
9. Could you hear your muse in the hallway from another room?
Nope.    He is silent as a cat and tends to scare the shit out of esp. his mortal friends; which may or may not even amuse him.    Exception is ofc when he wears his armor.    Then you can perceive his nearing because metal is metal and produces at least subtle sound when layered and in motion.
Tagged by: @murroyilodel ♡
Tagging: @untamedtempest @uruking @draculyr @silvanborn @elvcnson @elvened @ringwinner @ereborsking @sunweald @vezely @dunadaneth @undomerie @jokethur @iniziare @etherealbound @sampati @faeblcssed @peredhellen @pristessdivine & you !
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sryryfm · 3 years
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Textbook Happy Endings
Pairing: Alvin Vint Svent/Jude Mathis
Warnings: N/A, this one is pure fluff and domestic nonsense. 
Summary: Was offering to adopt someone a strange birthday present? Were they moving too fast? No one could say, but if everyone was happy, did it even matter? (originally written for Aruju week 2016)
Words: 2.2k
AO3
“When were we supposed to meet up with Leia again?” Jude asked turning his head slightly so Alvin could hear better, though not moving away from the stove.
“Next week, maybe? I’ll check,” the former mercenary called back as the fact he was closer to the calendar was likely why Jude even asked. The reporter had scheduled a so called top secret meeting to put together the ‘Most Perfect, Totally Awesome Super Secret Birthday Party’ for Elize who was to be turning fourteen in just a couple weeks.
It had been a bit difficult to discern a proper date given how murky the girl’s past was, but with help from Rowen and Gaius what few documents remained of her childhood were able to be found hidden among Auj Oule’s secret projects.
It wasn’t really something anyone, Elize especially, liked to think about, but the fact she hadn’t been given a proper birthday party since just the year prior was something all of them agreed simply wouldn’t fly. Leia was especially adamant about it as with the tradition Leronde had she was always working with her father to plan parties for various people around town.
Personally, Jude had no opinion when it came to his own birthday and neither did Alvin as he struggled to even remember his own, but with how close they’d grown to Elize the three of them were determined to make it one of the best days in her life thus far.  
As Alvin looked over the calendar though, another date stood out and it actually made him sheepish if not apologetic for forgetting about it. Circled around the date and glossed by the side was Jude’s cute handwriting stating that today was their apparent anniversary. Honestly, that date too was murky as the exact timing of their supposed relationship was unclear in of itself. Since Jude was the one who circled it, that must be the date he considered them a couple, but it was difficult on Alvin’s part as there were aspects to it that he was hesitant to call real compared to maybe how Jude saw it. It brought a frown to his face just thinking of it, but he already vowed and swore to Jude he wasn’t like that anymore; that he wouldn’t ever lie to him if he could help it.
Drawing it out of his mind not to ruin the morning, he quickly scanned the rest of the week confirming the exact day and time written down for when Leia told them to meet her. After taking an extra second to finish adjusting his scarf, he moved back out to join Jude in the kitchen and embraced him from behind, twisting just enough to kiss his cheek without necessarily getting in the way.
“Has it really been a year?” Alvin murmured watching Jude stir the soup in the pot in front of them. If it was true, it certainly made him happy that he managed to keep him around that long, but at the same time, it did make various insecurities surface.
A soft smile spread on the doctor’s face though it still remained facing away from Alvin, “It has; time sure flies doesn’t it?”
They had been through a lot in the past year and even before that, much of which, admittedly Jude wasn’t fond of thinking about either, but he hadn’t regretted his decision to start dating Alvin. They had only started living together the past few months, but it’s only helped more than damaged their relationship.
He brought a free hand he wasn’t using to cook with up to hold the arm around him as he knew even if it wasn’t evident in Alvin’s voice, he had a faint idea of what it was the other likely was thinking of. One of the things that had surprised him had been just how false Alvin’s confidence was compared to how he first introduced himself. Truthfully, it had been that along with how safe the man made him feel that first attracted Jude to him, but even learning of what problems Alvin had it hadn’t stopped him from loving the other. If anything, it just made him feel determined to help.
“You’re telling me, soon enough I won’t have to learn down as far to kiss you,” he teased giving Jude another kiss before heading towards the cupboards to begin setting the table.
“And I’ll have to be assuring you that your grey hairs look very handsome, right?” Jude joked right back, as he knew how sensitive Alvin was about appearances. Jude himself was at times sensitive about his height given how he wasn’t fond of how delicate he appeared, so it was only fair he give a similar gibe right back.
“You’re getting meaner and meaner, I guess I’m rubbing off on you, huh?” Alvin countered though he wondered if it was necessarily a good thing. There wasn’t really anything inherently bad about what he replied with given how he only reassured that he would still love him in the years to come. The idea of Jude still willing to be with him for anything longer than just one year was nice if not a little frightening to worry about minding that proved not to end up true. He may be vain, but it was more his personality that he feared Jude would one day come to detest even though he’d done some terrible things already that had been forgiven.
“I hope I didn’t come off as too mean,” he scratched his cheek at that though Alvin didn’t seem that bothered by it. As he began to serve the soup into the bowls Alvin brought over, the other couldn’t help laughing at such a statement.
“Nah, you’ve grown a bigger backbone for sure, but I don’t think it’s physically possible for you to be anything but a do-gooder.”
Jude wasn’t sure whether to be offended or not by a statement like that, though he wasn’t particularly eager to be mean to anyone. With a person like Alvin he’d just grown to be more affectionately teasing similar to how he reacted with Leia. Thinking of his old childhood friend only returned him to the subject that started it all though.
“Oh, right so what day were we supposed to see Leia? I know Elize’s birthday is in a couple weeks, but if we’re late or can’t make it she’ll probably kill me,” Jude sighed as he finished putting the ladle back in the pot for now moving with Alvin to sit at their kitchen table.
“It’s two days from now around noon. Taking time off for it won’t be hard for me, and I’d better hope you can make it. I can bully Balan into letting you off for a few hours if he gives you trouble though so don’t worry.”
“I’m not really worried about that and while I don’t really like having to take time off I do want Elize to have a good birthday…”
“You already think of something to get the princess by the way? Every time I ask her what she wants Teepo yells at me to make it a surprise or get more creative,” Alvin groaned just thinking about it as there were a few things he could think of she might like, but for as much as he teased her he too wanted her to have a good birthday.
Jude took a moment to have some of the soup while thinking. These days they didn’t get to meet up often, but with the interest in academics she now had upon getting to go to school he picked up a nice collection of fairy tales she might like. They weren’t necessarily for young children, but as a kid he remembered enjoying some of them and there were a few Elympion ones that were recently translated and added to it.
All in all it was a very… Jude gift, but he hoped she’d like it nonetheless.
“Of course you’d get a book, but then again from what I hear she’s turning out to be quite the honors student too.”
The conversation lulled briefly as they took the chance to actually eat while thinking. Though, taking the time to notice the food made an idea come mind from a conversation Jude overheard them having quite a while back.
“Right, wasn’t there some meal you guys mentioned once? I only heard a snippet of the conversation though something about a pink sushi bowl?”
It did ring a few bells and after a moment the conversation came back to mind.
“Oh, right that. Hmm, maybe I could try making it as part of her dinner though aren’t you and Leia planning to arrange one of those roast chickens for her out of tradition or something? Plus, she started adding some weird stuff to mix.”
“Oh yeah… hmm well we can look when we’re done helping Leia then, how’s that sound?”
“You’d think she’d be easier to shop for, but nope. Who knew little girls were this difficult to figure out…”
Jude laughed a little at that bringing a hand to cover his resulting smile as he did so. It was only evident from how hard Alvin was trying how important Elize was to him and it was rather cute.  They had a habit of bickering more lately, but it was clear the girl found him just as important. If she wasn’t so far away and going to school, he’d actually consider asking Alvin about taking her in, but given the circumstances and his own insecurities about being anything resembling a parent the topic was hard to bring up.
“Say, do you think it’d be strange to ask if she’d live want to live with us someday?” Alvin asked his voice oddly hesitant if not outright nervous. It wasn’t a surprise he’d been thinking something similar with the subject at hand, but it was a little startling that he’d also sincerely thought of it as a possibility.
Jude’s fingers rubbed around the edge of the cup of tea he’d made for himself with their meal as he wanted to voice what thoughts he had on the matter, but at the same time the image of them having a little family was one he couldn’t deny he thought about sometimes.
Their whole friend circle in some ways felt like its own sort of family, but in particular, it was one of those steps a relationship sometimes took. Jude was still rather young and focused on his research, but even when he had been struggling to figure out his life a year or so ago he hadn’t regretted for a moment taking Elize into their little party. Imagining her sitting at the table with them or helping her with homework sounded nice.
“I’m a little nervous about how good of a parent I’d be, but I… have thought of it before.”
“Me too.”
They grew silent again as it was a difficult thing to consider, but at the same time it was one of the few gifts—if Alvin could call it that—he’d been thinking about.
“What if I offered as a birthday present? I mean, I’ll try and find something else just in case it comes out bad, but—”
“Maybe we can try for a bit? If she wants that is; she still is in school after all.”
“Damn, you’re right…”
Alvin rested his chin on his palm and watched Jude from the other side of the table. Though he never expected it, there had been a slight concern that he’d be laughed at for thinking of something like this, but it was a little encouraging to know he’d been wondering the same thing. All in all, some aspects looked impossible for now, but maybe Jude’s suggestion would work as she’d be on break in a month or two. It all really depended on what she wanted, but with the signs he’d picked up each time he or Jude tried to spoil her, he hoped that it wouldn’t go over poorly.
Laughing, he instead turned the topic back to the present, “It’s only been a year and we’re sitting here thinking of adopting a child, we’re moving a little fast, huh?”
“I’d say this past year has been pretty fast, but… I don’t regret any of it either.”
The admittance was shocking enough to be noticeable on Alvin’s face. It only resulted in Jude getting embarrassed, “Was that… a little too honest?”
“No, no,” Alvin quickly exclaimed beginning to feel a bit flushed himself, “no more lies remember?” The statement had been more something that applied to him more than Jude, but it only served to show how far they’ve come.
“Right,” Jude answered him a smile on his face.
“Let’s eat out tonight. Doesn’t have to be fancy, but I mean it is a special day,” Alvin actually would have put the effort of putting a reservation down somewhere more upscale if he had remembered the date, but he would for sure next time.
“We can stop by a shop on the way home. Think a nice pair of ribbons will be enough to make up for how much I’ll probably embarrass myself trying to ask Elize if she’d like to stay with us over break will go?”
Jude merely nodded and laughed again at the image it brought forth.
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wendylewis-blog · 4 years
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05.14.2020 /MamasDay+M-Th
Mamas’ Day
My friend Annie sent me a link this morning. I’m embarrassed that I never knew the actual history of Mothers’ Day.  I’ve made the grave mistake for years, it appears as of this morning, dismissing the event as just another Hallmark holiday created to ramp up national consumerism—out of sincerity or duty. Actually, the bigger story has been omitted from American history. The patriarchy (not YOU, men I love) strikes again! There is real feminist significance attached to this day, which deserves not only our attention—but also, our reverence. 
Teaser. “Mothers’ Day”—with the apostrophe not in the singular spot, but in the plural—actually started in the 1870s, when the sheer enormity of the death caused by the Civil War and the Franco-Prussian War convinced American women that women must take control of politics from the men who had permitted such carnage. Mothers’ Day was not designed to encourage people to be nice to their mothers. It was part of women’s effort to gain power to change modern society.  
Thank you, Heather Cox Richardson. I suggest following her with an easy click at the end of the link and/or follow her on Twitter. She posts daily, is politically savvy and keeps it concise/in-depth/readable. 
After canceling the initial Mothers’ Day plan with H/G/bbE/K because of bad weather, which would have put us inside the house, Kitty ended up in CF anyway to grab items I’d purchased for her at Costco. We spent an hour outside in the chilly grey afternoon by the fire pit after gathering kindling and firewood. She brought me brownies, a herby Italian verde sauce she’d made and a bottle of rye whiskey. H/G/bbE surprised me an hour later with a request via text to come into the yard in five minutes and brought tomato and pepper plants (woot!) for my garden. We all watched Ezra TV in the driveway for an hour. We especially enjoyed the episode featuring him teething on the steering wheel. Creative work, little man! 
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After they left, I poured myself a stiff drink and stared out the studio window into early evening. A gentle rain was falling. I let circumstance go, let sadness and angst go. I washed my turgid blackboard down and tried to embrace some peaceful emptiness. I was in bed long before 10pm, sliding willingly into the time warp sleep provides for me lately. It was another bittersweet time with my people—not touching, not sitting at a table together, not able to relax into each other the way we would have a couple months ago. But, they are my family and it is never a diminishing return to be with them. Thank you for driving down to see us even though we had called the gathering off. It was a good Mothers’ Day. I love you all more than I can express!
My dreams that night were flush with all things post-apocalyptic. I was in an office building transformed into a flophouse of endless lonely cubicles, bare mattresses thrown down on synthetic grey carpet, bland tan fabric divider walls too short and porous to provide any privacy, a random empty chair here and there—askew, the bathroom’s flickering florescent light pulsing numbly through its plastic diamond-textured ceiling panel. I felt a disconnected calm inside me—a dead calm as I moved through the building. Everyone I saw in there was a stranger—except for an old bandmate I ended up in bed with— so impossible and surreal. It wasn’t the act, gratefully omitted, but the aftermath scenario instead—exposed, mannequin-esque bodies, no desire, no connection, no tenderness—only his crushing possessiveness after I explained that I had many other lovers even though I knew they didn’t matter either. I turned his noise off undramatically, easily as his panic escalated—the click of a switch—like turning off bad radio. He vanished, seemed to dematerialize on the dark street, leaving only strangers hanging on the corners, propped against buildings, inert yet somehow, guardian—but I felt nothing—nothing at all. Alive but dead inside. 
Mon
I woke up at 4:30AM. Shared dream details with B before he headed off to a fresh pot of coffee and work. I always benefit from his insightful (often hilarious) perspective on my intrepid darknesses, asleep or awake. In a previous issue of Lockdown, I’d queried how the virus and physical distancing might affect our intimacies going forward, the dream standing as the latest metaphor. I laid back down, folding into the quiet of my bed and may have slept awhile longer, still rising before dawn. 
Hours were spent in my garden that morning turning over soil in the crisp air, laying straw tiles separated from the bale in the wheelbarrow after cutting the blue plastic string. I laid them over the mulch that had cooked over the summer of 2019, which I’d lovingly spread a few days prior, prepping the ground for seeds that are en route to me: bush beans, marigolds, arugula, mustard, zinnia and nasturtium seeds from my sister, cilantro and basil from Etsy and those MD tomato and pepper seedlings from H+G. It’s been difficult to find non-GMO seeds around here—the same way it’s still hard to find TP, hand sanitizer, and lately, yeast and flour. I planted cilantro, Mexican tarragon, and basil plants I’d found in Northfield in pots, thyme and mint along garden edge that meets my front stoop. 
The morning felt hushed, orderly—my act of civility engaging with living things that don’t speak but offer company and require only my willingness to share a piece of earth with them. Before the sun reached over the garden, I decided to put in one cherry tomato plant because a tomato cage represented future sustenance. I could imagine the little plant growing tall to fill the cage, yellow flowers appearing before the fruit. It felt romantic and I succumbed. I watered everything, filled the bird feeder and headed off to Redwing to run an errand.
It felt good to drive the winding two-lane roads between overwintered, as yet unturned spring fields, slipping down the bluff lines along the Cannon River, the sun all full of itself. The sky was cerulean blue with tiny cotton ball clusters of clouds. The world beyond my windshield seemed serene and normal—even pastoral—a momentary ruse worth believing against the numbing dripdripdrip of our internment. Returning home, I cleaned the kitchen with a similar communion felt with the garden and highways. FaceTimed with a friend and planned a fire pit hootenanny with him and a few friends soon, walked the dog and sat on the stoop overlooking the yard. We ate soup from B’s mama for dinner (thank you, Helen), brought in the tender herb pots for the night and was ready to sleep before 8:30, a rarity for me. I have to say, it felt like a pretty good day! I count them all, good or not. 
Tues
It dipped just below freezing again last night and I really thought that sweet li’l cherry tomato plant that looked so sturdy yesterday could handle it but, ooof!—it’s droopy, quietly murdered overnight. Another casualty of Corona Times, like a broken promise, a breach of trust. I jerked it out of the ground without any tenderness and tossed it into the yard where it will eventually make love with mower blades and clipped grasses. I was mad at myself, of course. It’s just one tomato plant and I have more perched on the radiator under the south facing window, lined up like fresh recruitments ready for service. Still, each seedling, especially this year, feels like an individual. 
I’m alarmed with the message being conveyed by the White House in recent days—normalizing the loss of life, the US population being at least encouraged and possibly forced back into a virulent world with the expectation that we can save the collapsing economy. The grim reaper is leaning casually on his sickle next to my dead tomato plant, the one I exposed to the elements too soon, the one I planted with careless impunity to serve my immediate desire. 
Please listen to this conversation on Pema Chodron’s book When Things Fall Apart. I ordered it after years of intending to and it’s on the way. I will set it on the bookshelf next to my worn copies of Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet, the Tao te Ching and Dillard’s For the Time Being. Reference books for being alive, human and uncertain. 
JFTR. On Being continues to win me over. Here’s another one if you decide to check it out. She’s really smart and this guest, Ocean Vuong—brilliant. 
Wed 
A beautiful essay penned by Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s son Rodrigo. Thanks, C, for sending—and for the seeds which arrived today. I didn’t plant more today because still freezing overnight. 
My college roommate long friend Toni linked me to this article over the weekend. It was SO fkn HELPFUL. It breaks down how the virus gets spread in a very practical way that you can use every day. This article is exactly why my fam and I reeled ourselves back from having lunch inside my house on Mothers’ Day. Everyone agreed.
Colbert has been killing it, as always and this one—so spot on. Also, Seth Meyers’ latest episode—I mean, please! Trump’s Mothers’ Day bit is truly—uhhnbelievable. Waking up to the absurdity of what is happening right now as it rolls and rolls. I also truly live for these socially distanced performances with Jimmy Fallon and The Roots. They make me joy-cry. 
There are good ppl out there doing their best. We are all trying to do our best, even on our hardest days. Beating the zombies back one by one. Don’t believe that the angry gun-toting ppl are coming for us. They are few. We are many. It’s time to activate.
I’ve noticed lately I’m getting a sense for when Jimmy Fallon or Stephen Colbert, for example, might be having a bad day. They aren’t on stage anymore, they don’t have a responsive audience to pump them up, they are people like we are, broadcasting from their homes. They struggle with life under the pandemic just the way we do. I can feel when they are having to get up for another broadcast from home or lapsing in attention, disengaging or losing the thread with someone they are interviewing. It’s an subtle nuance to notice, and it makes me feel as if I am getting a brief peek into their humanity instead of simply watching them put on the show.
I’ve also been making... um, haha... bread—the kind of bread you have to knead and let rise and punch down and knead and let rise again and so on. I finally got some active dry yeast and made two sandwich loaves a week ago. On my second round yesterday, I pushed my 20+ year old Kitchen Aide stand mixer beyond its limit. Smoke drifting from the housing, dough hook seizing up, goodbye trusty appliance. 
While the dough was going through its rising process, I searched DIY fixes which were plentiful and also searched for parts through the Kitchen Aide website, discovering they—are—not—selling—them. Really? Boo on you, Kitchen Aide. You won’t force me to buy a $400 mixer ever again. Double boo on you, assumed capitalism. Until I’m able to find the parts I need via Etsy or wherever (NOT Amazon ever again), I’ll use the mixer my mother-in-law offered me since she doesn’t use it much and remind myself of the days when I used to knead bread by hand—that ancient task. Again—get it together, Lewis! 
I’ll leave you with this brilliant essay from The Paris Review called Fuck the Bread. The Bread is Over. Thank you, Byrdie, for tagging me on this one. I’m still gonna make the bread one way or another because it saves money but I’ll keep the wise words from the authors mother closest to my heart, which translates loosely into stop holding on so tight to what you think you need.
Thurs
So, I’ve been writing today and editing and writing more and editing more. It’s all about thinking and re-thinking everything with nothing on my plate but time staring up at me. There is a strange blessing that has a chance to bloom inside this isolation. 
Go gently, my friends, family and any strangers who may be stopping by. Thanks for being here with me. I really appreciate you, wherever you are today.
Stay safe. Be strong. Fall apart. Know you aren’t alone. Lovelove. 
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vicariouseyes · 7 years
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Massive Ask Meme
I was tagged by @grey-skies-full-moon
Rules: Tag 20 people ((That’s so many... I’ll see what I can do.))
Puttin’ this under a Read More because it’s hella long. 
Your last:
1. Drink: A tropical punch-type juice.
2. Phone Call: I had to call my dentist to reschedule an appointment because my car died and I couldn’t get there.
3. Text message: DJ (s/o), I’m pretty sure.
4. Song you listened to: Uh... It might’ve been something from The Last Five Years, which DJ introduced me to. If I’ve listened to anything since then, I don’t remember.
5. Time you cried: Uh... huh. Probably within the last month or two, but I actually don’t remember. That’s a good sign. Gods, it’s nice to be back on my meds again.
Have You:
6. Dated someone twice: No. That is not a thing I do.
7. Kissed someone and regretted it: Nah.
8. Been cheated on: Not that I’m aware of.
9. Lost someone special: Yes.
10. Been depressed: Enough to be medicated for it.
11: Gotten drunk and thrown up: Once.
List 3 Favorite Colors:
12. Teal.
13. Gray.
14: Purple.
In the last year, have you…
15. Made new friends: A couple of acquaintances, but not friends.
16. Fallen out of love: Nope.
17. Laughed until you cried: Oh definitely. That happens all the time.
18. Found out someone was talking about you: I mean, friends making references to me and my existence maybe, but not gossip or anything. At least, not that I know of.
19. Met someone who changed you: I don’t think so...?
20. Found out who your friends are: I mean, I’m well aware of who my friends are.
21. Kissed someone on your FB list: I mean, DJ’s on my facebook list, so yeah, lol.
GENERAL:
22. How many Facebook friends do you know in real life: 99% of them. There are two that added me years ago that I just sort of added because fuck it, and we’ve literally never talked, but it’s kind of nice seeing how their lives are doing. I just haven’t had the heart to unfriend them after all this time.
23. Do you have any pets: Not anymore. My parents have a dog, and DJ has a cat, but I don’t have any pets that feel like they’re MY pets, you feel me?
24. Do you want to change your name: I mean... There are two that I would consider for very different reasons, but I’ve gotten so used to my name that switching now would probably be weird.
25. What did you do for your last birthday: DJ and I hung out and got dinner and stuff. My mom also used it as an excuse to have a cookout later in the month, lol.
26. What time did you wake up: I woke up several times last night. If you mean actually stayed awake, probably around 11 or so.
27. What were you doing at midnight last night: Watching Twitch or sitting on the internet, probably.
28. Name something you can’t wait for: The possibility of moving to Chicago.
29. When was the last time you saw your Mom: Last... Monday, I believe.
30. What is one thing you wish you could change in your life: Financial stability/security.
31. What are you listening to right now: DJ’s mom’s cockatiels chirping. Other than that and the ceiling fan in here, there isn’t really any noise. I WAS listening to a Rooster Teeth Podcast not too long ago while folding laundry, but then I moved to a different room, and haven’t put another one on yet.
32. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom: Yes.
33. Something that is getting on your nerves: Feeling frustrated and lost I guess, but that’s actually started to ease up recently as I’ve been slowly figuring things out. I’ve got a long way to go, but it’s kind of nice.
34. Most visited website: Tumblr, Facebook, Youtube, Twitch. I visit them all pretty equally.
35. Mole/s: Uh... A bunch. Two on my neck, a couple on my chest, several on my arms, maybe one or two on my legs, and one other one.
36. Mark/s: I’ve currently got some scars thanks to Nugget (DJ’s cat), but those’ll probably go away sooner or later, as with any other scars or bruises I’ve ever picked up. The only lasting scar I have is on the bridge of my nose. When I was 5 or so, I tried to feed my uncle’s Very Large Dog, Snowball, a piece of ham. He was very excited about the ham, and I was very small. Wasn’t his fault, and I never blamed him for it. Honestly, I’ve kind of grown to really like that scar. It’s distinctive.
37. Childhood dream: I wanted to be a horse until I was 5 and found out you couldn’t do that (lmao). I wanted to be a vet after that until I was 11 or 12 and realized I was very squeamish around gore. I wanted to be a zoologist after that all the way up until freshman year of college, after which my goals changed, and are still currently evolving. There was also DEFINITELY a point where I wanted to host my own Animal Planet show, a la Steve Irwin or Jeff Corwin.
38. Hair color: It’s currently a light/medium auburn. I tried dyeing purple over it, but it didn’t stick for very long. Naturally, it’s a medium/dark brown with some red in it.
39. Long or short hair: My hair is actually currently the shortest it’s been since 2008, and it’s still a little below shoulder length. I’m used to having very long hair, but my hair is prone to damage and split ends, and tangles, and is also very thin. Getting half of it chopped off has helped immensely. It looks much healthier.
40. Do you have a crush on someone?: Nah.
41. What do you like about yourself: Hm. I’m kind, thoughtful, generally try to be helpful, tactful, reasonably intelligent, and musically talented.
42. Piercings: None. Not really a fan of them, tbh. I think I’d look good with a monroe or madonna piercing, but it would irritate my gums too much. 
43. Blood type: A negative.
44: Nicknames: Sabs is the only one I get even remotely regularly anymore.
45. Relationship status: Happily taken.
46. Zodiac: Cancer / Horse.
47. Pronouns: She/her, I guess. I probably wouldn’t really care about any of them, tbh.
48. Favorite TV show(s): Hm. Community, Brooklyn Nine-Nine, Parks and Rec, maybe The Goldbergs, Steven Universe, Gravity Falls... There’s probably more. I’m not even going to include anime, because that list is way longer.
49. Tattoos: I currently have one on my left wrist. I think I’d like to get full sleeves eventually. I’m still planning out some of the designs. Also, you know, tattoos are expensive.
50. Right or left hand: Right. 
51. Surgery: I’ve had x-rays, ultrasounds, dental work, but never a surgery. I’d like to keep it that way, but something tells me my dentist is going to harp on me about not getting my wisdom teeth removed.
52. Hair dyed a different color: I’ve been dyeing my hair since I was 11. I guarantee there are some people who’ve never seen my natural hair color.
53. Sports: I am Bad At Those.
54. Vacation: I’ve only ever been on a couple in my life (California to visit my aunt when I was 13, St. Louis in high school for the band/choir trip. Chicago every once in a while to visit friends, but I don’t know if I’d call that a vacation, per se). I’d love to go a TON of places.
55. Shoes: I’ve mostly been wearing flip flops lately, flats if I need to be dressy. But that’s because it’s hot and humid right now. Ohio air is like soup. It’s the worst. I prefer boots of all types, and some tennis shoes/sneakers.
56. Eating: I’m about to go make a leftover taco or two. I want to go get something somewhere, but... financial responsibility. *sigh*
57. Drinking: I had some juice earlier. Will probably have more, or water.
58. I’m about to: Go make those tacos I was talking about.
59. Waiting for: Things to finally start moving in the right direction.
60. Want: To win the lottery. It would fix 90% of my problems. Also, to find out what’s wrong with me, but the doctors’ appointments and lab work should solve that.
61. Get married: I’d like to eventually, but I’m in no particular rush. I got engaged once before, and it ended horrifically. I mean, I’ve certainly got high hopes for this one, but I, again, am in no particular rush.
62. Career: I do some freelance editing currently, but it’s not enough to pay the bills. I’d like to get into full-time editing, web development (which I’m currently learning how to do), or, ideally, being a full-time Twitch streamer would really suit me, but I like streaming just because. I would just like to do it more often.
WHICH IS BETTER:
63. Hugs or kisses: Hugs.
64. Lips or eyes: Eyes.
65. Shorter or taller: Taller, I guess? It really doesn’t matter to me either way.
66. Older or younger: Doesn’t matter, within reason.
67. Nice arms or nice stomach: Arms, maybe. Don’t super care about either.
68. Sensitive or loud: Sensitive, I guess.
69. Hook up or relationship: Relationship.
70. Troublemaker or hesitant: Hesitant. I’d rather not have to deal with cops, if at all possible.
HAVE YOU EVER:
71. Kissed a stranger: Once, that I recall.
72. Drank hard liquor: Yup. I don’t drink as much these days, but it’s still fun from time to time.
73. Lost glasses/contact lenses: I lose my glasses all the damn time. Accidentally left them at my parents’ house the last time I was over, so I’m gonna have to go get those back soon.
74. Turned someone down: Yeah.
75. Sex on first date: It has happened.
76. Broken someone’s heart: Yeah.
77. Had your heart broken: Yes.
78. Been arrested: No.
79. Cried when someone died: Very much so, even seven years later.
80. Fallen for a friend: I mean, that’s usually the case. I don’t tend to date people if I’m not already friends with them first. 
DO YOU BELIEVE IN:
81. Yourself: That answer changes from day to day. It’s better than it used to be.
82. Miracles: Maybe? I’m not entirely sure. I don’t know the exact definition of what constitutes a miracle.
83. Love at first sight: I think people can have Interest at First Sight, or, like, I Think I’m Compatible with This Person Probably at First Sight, but true, actual, lasting love? No. That develops over time and requires work to sustain.
84. Santa Claus: St. Nicholas was absolutely a real person.
85. Kiss on the first date: Again, it has happened.
OTHER:
86. Current best friend: I have several. I know that defeats the purpose of a “best friend,” but I consider most of my close friends family at this point. I suppose I’d have to say DJ, in that case.
87. Eye color: Light grayish-blue. Some days it looks more one color than the other. Depends on what I’m wearing.
88. Favorite movie: Well, the only three movies I’m generally able to watch multiple times (and have) are Scott Pilgrim, The Nightmare Before Christmas, and Repo! The Genetic Opera. I’ve also seen all the Harry Potter movies several times. There are a ton of movies I’ve enjoyed, though. I just usually don’t have the attention span to watch them.
tagging: @theifbaby @patillojack @gordona424 @octoberspirit @legendxofxzach Uh...I don’t know if I can think of 15 more. I’ll tag @nwinchester94 too, even though I haven’t heard from her in a long time. :(
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akathecentimetre · 7 years
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It was M’Colleague @agarthanguide‘s birthday on the 17th! I was too jetlagged to do much about it on the day, so here’s a late attempt at something very new - a little bit of fractured Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them speculation, because Tina & Graves. TINA & GRAVES, PEOPLE. Hope you enjoy it :-)
She’s not supposed to be here.
She never is, really. Tina’s never meant to be what and where she is. Too tall, she’d been told, and so she’d learned to slouch and duck, finding chairs which sunk low behind desks and taking comfort in teetering stacks of memos which muttered their displeasure when she hid behind them. Too curious, she’d been told, and so she’d learned to speak out of the corners of her mouth and around questions, wearing soft greys in backgrounds so wizards and no-majs alike didn’t see her against the suits and the concrete.
She hadn’t intended to draw any attention to herself in her first interview with the Director of Magical Security. Keep her head down, read the papers on his desk upside down, make sure to follow up in text - easy, persistent, silent text which didn’t require speech - those had been the extent of her ambitions.
Graves didn’t let her hide, which was - well, confusing. He had put his hand over the memos she’d been scanning, tapped a finger once or twice until she’d dared to look straight at him, and then looked at her with eyebrows raised, a professional not-quite-intrigue frankness in his eyes.
“So, you’re a watcher, huh?” he’d asked. “Tina.”
“Yes, sir.”
He’d nodded, self-satisfied, and moved his hand. “These reports are on a recent sighting of a Grindelwald lieutenant in Newport. Want to have a look?”
She hadn’t felt grateful - not quite. Whatever she did feel wasn’t that easy to define.
They’d found that wizard in Newport together, and, leaving him trussed-up and glaring in the boot of an enchanted car, eaten at a dockside diner. She got mustard on her chin, felt it drip; Graves had noticed, and nearly laughed, and drank his milkshake with all the fastidious pleasure of a man who didn’t want to go home quite yet. 
That was in 1925.
1926. She’s gotten tired of opening her morning papers - the no-maj ones discarded by Mrs. Esposito, the magical ones thrust grumpily into her hands for half a dragot as she enters the Ministry - and finding little more than further reports of strange happenings and disappearances. She still prefers these banal articles, though, to the full dossiers of the truth waiting for her in the Department of Investigations, and the way Graves looks at them all, pacing, like he thinks there is some iota of human competence lacking somewhere that’s ruining everything. 
She thinks he looks tired. 
They’re all tired. Him more so, though, and he goes down for several days with something they all assume must be the flu. It’s going around. It’s a bad spring, a bad year for it. They still remember 1918, how not even magic had stopped it - and so Graves stays home and even the messages he sends in become short and abrupt, unlike himself. 
Tina goes to his house, once, in those couple of weeks, to a tidy little brownstone in Brooklyn Heights; she waits outside with a tub of her mother’s chicken noodle soup (well, she always says it’s her mother’s recipe - it’s really from the corner deli which had been her mother’s favorite, which, in New York, means practically the same thing), but no one answers the door.
She’s out looking for a mission when she finds the Second Salemers.
She’s sitting in his office, alone, when he arrives back, and has been there for two hours. Sometimes she feels cold, her insides turned into a sludgy, slow-moving poison of a potion; other times she feels like she’d do it again, damn, so many times, and her knuckles smart and itch for that awful woman’s face - 
She starts when the door opens, and when she screws up the courage to glance at him he’s strangely still in the door, half-shadowed, and very still.
“Tina,” he sighs, eventually, and she nearly starts again at the resumption of him, the confirmation of her fate. 
The tight, pained look doesn’t suit him. If she weren’t so upset that she couldn’t speak, she’d wonder why on earth he reaches across his desk and quietly breaks the news of her dismissal with his palm on top of her hand, as though she matters.
She does, she knows - she did - but not like this.
She sees the same look on his face when he condemns her to death, and she wants to ask why (why), but there’s no time.
It takes far longer than it should have for her to realize what on earth must have happened. In the chaos of the aftermath at City Hall, it takes until after Newt boards his ship for her to remember - to remember all of it. It takes her until her heart stops beating a little slantways in her chest - or at least until it subsides, just a little, and she feels the distant ache in her cheeks that reminds her to stop smiling - how she has been used, and deceived, and maybe even - 
No, but she won’t think of that now. She has work to do, and the quiet Oh she says to herself before she apparates is full of quiet hope. 
The windows of the brownstone are dark, but inside, all is relatively as it ever must have been; there is nothing unusual in the arrangement of the furniture, in the half-bottle of milk on the kitchen table and the detritus of toast in the sink. Even Grindelwald, she supposes, would have needed to eat.
The basement door is small and low. She needs to light her way down, and then it is a cavernous, cold search, shivering at cobwebs and the evidence of rats, before she finds him. 
He knows. She can see it in his eyes, how he’s thought about it, how he’s wondered what more he could have done. She can see that he knows what has happened to him as she rubs warmth back into his blue-tinged hands and chafed wrists, how he knows what it was he was being used for every time someone leaned over him in the dark. It makes her want to hide again.
This time, when she feels his grip, she knows what it means. 
“Tina,” he rasps; he coughs, and sighs. “Always in the right place.”
And that’s enough, for now, to see a way forward.
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easytravelpw-blog · 5 years
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Full text write on https://easy-travel.pw/5-reasons-to-visit-portugal-in-the-winter/europe/
5 Reasons to Visit Portugal in the Winter
01 of 05
You’ll Get a Dose of Winter Sunshine
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Unlike much of the rest of Europe, most of Portugal doesn’t suffer from grey skies or freezing temperatures in the middle of winter. While it regularly snows in the interior of the country, Portugal’s long Atlantic coastline often sees sunshine and blue skies at that time of year, especially in the south.
It’s not unusual for temperatures to reach the mid-sixties in the Algarve in January or February—warm enough to sit outside and enjoy a glass of wine in the sun—and Lisbon is often only a little colder. It’s a different story in the north, however, as Porto is typically grey, chilly, and damp at that time of year.
Another option for winter sun is to visit one of Portugal’s two island chains. Madeira lies off the coast of North Africa, and regularly sees temperatures in the mid to high sixties. While rain is a definite possibility in late winter, it’s far from guaranteed, and the temperate conditions make hiking and other outdoor activities more enjoyable than in the mid-summer heat.
If you happen to time your visit for New Year’s Eve, you’ll also witness one of the biggest and best fireworks celebrations in the world. The island’s capital, Funchal, set a Guinness world record in 2007 for the largest fireworks display.
The Azores, sitting out in the mid-Atlantic, is also surprisingly mild during the winter months. Daily maximum temperatures in the low sixties are typical from December through March, although again, like Madeira, you’re more likely to get some short-lived rain during your stay as well.  
02 of 05
You’ll Avoid the Crowds
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While the Algarve has been a favorite of British and other European holidaymakers for decades, most of the rest of Portugal was a bit of a hidden secret until recently. That’s no longer the case, though, with both Lisbon and Porto now very much on the tourist radar, and seeing hordes of visitors from mid-spring until mid-fall.
During peak summer months, it can be hard to move at the major tourist attractions, or on the narrow downtown sidewalks of either city. Since many restaurants and bars are North, they’re also often filled to overflowing, with endless demands pushing the patience of stressed-out wait staff. Combine that with the high temperatures, and visiting in July or August starts to look less appealing.
Winter, though, is a whole different story. With cooler temperatures comes a huge reduction in visitor numbers. The pace of life slows down, it’s possible to walk into most restaurants without a reservation and still get a seat (although don’t try it with ​the Michelin-starred places!), and even popular spots like Sintra see a fraction of their summertime visitors.
If you’re happy to forgo sunbathing in favor of a less crowded and stressful visit, definitely plan it for winter!
03 of 05
You’ll Save a Bunch of Money
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Since visitor numbers drop off so much in winter, there’s plenty of spare capacity on all the services that cater to them. Planes, trains, rental cars, and accommodation are all under-booked between about November and March, and that means big discounts are on offer.
While hotel and Airbnb prices in Lisbon and Porto in peak season have skyrocketed in recent years, they plummet in winter. It’s not unusual to see discounts of 50% or more in January and February, as hoteliers and landlords desperately try to fill their empty rooms. Post-Christmas, flight prices are also noticeably cheaper, both from the United States and elsewhere in Europe.
Once you’re there, getting around by train, bus, or car can be almost embarrassingly cheap, especially if you book in advance. The three-hour one-way train ride from Lisbon to Porto, for instance, can often cost under ten euros. Portugal is one of the least expensive countries in Europe at all times of ​the year, but in winter, it’s positively cheap to visit!
04 of 05
It’s Peak Wave Season
Jorge Bras/GettyImages
If you’re keen on surfing, or just like to watch the professionals do it, definitely plan your trip to Portugal for the least expensive months. Nazaré, around a ninety-minute drive north of Lisbon, is famous for its towering waves, and they’re at their peak in winter. The world record for the largest surfed wave in the world was set here just a few years ago, and top big-wave surfers descend on the small town whenever conditions are right.
If trying to master 100-foot breakers seem a little ambitious, head elsewhere on the mainland, or to the Portuguese islands instead. No matter where you go, winter makes for bigger, better conditions in all of the country’s surf spots, and you’ll have far fewer people to share the waves with when you’re there.
Of course, the Atlantic isn’t renowned for its balmy water temperatures at the best of times, and that’s particularly true in the middle of winter! If you’re planning to spend any time in the ocean, be sure to pack or rent a very thick wetsuit.
Continue to 5 of 5 below.
05 of 05
You’ll Enjoy Traditional Winter Food and Drink
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Portuguese cuisine isn’t well-known elsewhere in the world, which is quite a surprise. The country excels in simple, delicious seafood and meat dishes, often paired with inexpensive, yet very drinkable, local wine.
While lighter dishes dominate during the long, hot summers, winter sees more hearty fare appear around the country. One of the heartiest of all is the cozido, a form of stew that’s heavy on the animal products. Various cuts of pork, chicken, and beef typically all make an appearance, along with boiled vegetables and potatoes.
Every region (and probably, every cook) has a different version, so it’s rare to get exactly the same thing twice. Don’t expect to see it at tourist restaurants or high-end places, though—cozido is definitely a simple, local affair.
The colder months are also a great time to check out caldo verde (green soup). Winter is when it traditionally makes an appearance on the menu, although you’ll likely be able to find a few places selling it throughout the year.
Often just called “sopa” or “sopa do dia” (soup of the day), this simple, warming bowl usually contains kale, onions, potato, garlic, and olive oil, often with some local pork sausage thrown in for good measure. Much like cozido, no two bowls are ever exactly the same.
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