Liberty's LocksI'd be lying if I said that I remembered all the details, but I think I knew even then that the maxims of conversation had been violated. I indicated no interest in Princess Diana or Great Britain, but the conversation kept turning back to those subjects. Aunt Betsy—who was actually my cousin, not my aunt—made a diligent effort to introduce me to Princess Diana through picture books we flipped through on the floor of the musky basement apartment. “This is a real, live princess,” she told me. I was at an age where I asked a lot of questions, but I don't remember being particularly interested in Princess Diana. I marked, however, that her hair was very short.Liberty's Locks5 hours ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
I would soon be sobbing ostentatiously as my fine brown hair dropped onto the floor in clumps. My aunt would halt the barber to lecture me about the inappropriateness of the racket I'm making, and console me that when the nice barber lady is done, I will look like Princess Diana.
“I don't want to
Memoirs of Thiebault #16 - Dolce Vita[Now that we're all refreshed and happy and innocent, let's go back to Tome III and skip a bit of boring military stuff. After the evacuation of Genoa, Thiébault is pondering a way of reuniting with Pauline in Milan; and just then, he receives order to go there for an indeterminate amount of time...]Memoirs of Thiebault #16 - Dolce Vita12 hours ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Thus, I would see Pauline again, and in keeping with the wish she had expressed, I came bathed in the glow of victory which illuminated French arms once more. What should make me even more interesting in her eyes was that I came from Genoa, whose heroic defence was already becoming legendary, for it was rightly considered as the only thing that enabled the First Consul’s successes. Everywhere, people repeated the Austrian army’s chief of staff’s answer to General Berthier. When the treaty of Alexandria was signed, Berthier affably told the enemy officers present: “You may all t
Memoirs of Thiebault #15 - Childhood memories[Let's actually forget about the horrors of Genoa for one moment and flash back to Tome I and to more innocent times...]Memoirs of Thiebault #15 - Childhood memories1 day ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
The passing of the seventh year is generally the time where children grow strong enough to start studying regularly. Things went otherwise for me. My health, which had always been weak, became worse; a threatening wasting disease, further increased by the destructive action of an excess in sensitivity and imagination, took hold of me. M. Fritz, my father’s physician, who usually examined me, declared that the slightest effort would kill me; this was a warrant which my father obeyed. I was suffering from two rather sad infirmities; I stuttered and I was deaf. I could hardly hear, and I had even more difficulties speaking. I stammered through answers that turned out to have no relation to the question asked, and this painful, mortifying situation, which I felt even more acutely than other children would have at this age, made me en
The Eighth ChristmasI never thought he didn’t love me. Not when I was four and the fights he had with my mom left fist sized holes in walls, nor when I was five and he would storm out of the house at night and I was left wondering if he’d be there when I woke up. Not when I was six and he was late to pick me up, if he came at all. Not when I was seven and he stopped answering his phone. Not when I was eight and wishing on birthday candles and first stars to see my daddy again. Not when I was nine and lying on my aunt’s bed crying because I couldn’t remember the sound of his voice anymore.The Eighth Christmas1 day ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
I hated him for a while, for a long time. But I never thought he didn’t love me.
Eventually, hatred became grief, grief became pain, and pain became a dull ache in my chest whenever someone asked about my dad. I told people that he wasn’t “in the picture,” because for some reason I thought it sounded better than “he left.”
When I was seven my mom moved us
LovedThe room looked like how I’d imagined a prison cafeteria would, except for the pictures of ducklings and otters hanging on the walls. A pool of mid afternoon light fell from a skylight above me. It didn’t stretch far before fluorescent light swallowed it up. White walls, white floor, white tables, and antiseptic lingering in the air. For a moment, I felt as if I’d stepped into a science fiction integration chambor hastily disguised as a visitor room.Loved1 day ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Across the room, I saw her, and suddenly I could breathe again. The lifted weight caused a corner of my mouth to float upwards into a grin. I still had the teddy bear clutched to my chest, the synthetic fur scratching my chin.
‘I can’t give it to you,’ I mouthed to her.
She smiled sadly. ‘I know.’
“You need to check yourselves in. The stuff, too.” The woman sat at a plastic fold up table right by the entrance. She sounded like a grandmother welcoming us
Christmas memoriesGrowing up, Christmas was one of the best holidays of the year. Don't get me wrong, I loved the other holidays, but Christmas was my favorite. We got to go shopping with our grandparents and eat at MCL. I always had to have strawberry shortcake for dessert. Afterwards, Grandma would help us wrap presents before driving us back home.Christmas memories2 days ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Setting up the tree was always hectic. We had to wait for mom and dad to finish setting up the tree or get to a point we could help with the lights and garland before we could put the ornaments on it. Than, we would open the old Christmas popcorn tins and pull out the ornaments and place them on the tree. My mother saved each and every ornament we made, as I do today with my own kids. When we had finished decorating the tree, we would light it up. It was always a beautiful sight to see the tree all lit up and more exciting to see presents start to appear under it.
My brother, my sister and I would be up before the sun would rise on Christmas day and wait fo
diecinueve.Ein Naturwissenschaftler wurde einmal gefragt, welche Eigenschaften des Schöpfers man aus der Erforschung der Natur ableiten kann. "Eine übertriebene Vorliebe für Insekten", lautete die Antwort. Es ist unglaublich. Ich habe gelesen, zwei Drittel der Biomasse sind Insekten, aber ich hoffe, es stimmt nicht. „Vermehrt euch und macht euch die Welt untertan“, heisst es in der Bibel. Niemand beherzt Gottes Wort besser als die Insekten. Wenn es so etwas wie ein "auserwähltes Volk" gibt, dann muss damit wohl ein Ameisenvolk gemeint sein.diecinueve.2 days ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Ich frage mich, warum sich Insekten derart vermehren können. Die haben ja auch so etwas wie Sexualität. Aber finden die sich wirklich gegenseitig anziehend? Ich meine, wenn Julia ein Hirschkäfer wäre und ich auch, würde ich dann die Schönheit ihres Panzers loben? Ihre behaarten Beinchen? Es gibt ja auch staatenbildende Insekten, zum Beispiel Ameisen und Termiten und Bienen und Wespen. Die Menschen g
Be careful, I'm HomicidalBe careful, I'm Homicidal2 days ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Be careful, I’m Homicidal: What happened to Liu Woods?
“Liu?” An eight year old Liu opened his heavy eyes out of coming back from a deep sleep to a hazy reality at the sound of the small voice. “You awake?” asked his big brother. “Hey bro..: He yawned. “Hey.. Sorry to wake ya up.. But uh..” His brother fell silent, a light blush appeared on his cheeks. “Monster hunt?” He asked. His brother nodded shamefully. Liu understood how he must feel, it had to have been pretty embarrassing asking your little brother to help check your room because you were scare. But in all honesty, they were only two years apart so it wasn't that big a deal, they were kids after all. But this had been the fourth night his brother had woken him up.
He was always the more sensitive one, while Liu himself was a brave, yet naive kid when it came t
The Journey to ParadiseAs I see the trees swaying and rushing byThe Journey to Paradise2 days ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
I think how long I have sat here watching things pass by my window knowing every second I am farther from home
But that doesn't make me home sick it only makes me want to watch things pass by more and play the most enjoyable and annoying game of I-spy with my sibling
And I can't wait till tomorrow
Is a new day
As I watch the bright greens of trees and grass
the bright hues of flowers
slowly as I move more along the road
the bright greens of trees and grass and the bright hues of flowers
slowly fade into bright yellow and red of the dust and sand
the grass and trees are now yellow
And I am not home sick still
Cause I still have tomorrow
tomorrow is a new day
It is days and days of emus and yellow water less and sun bleached plains
And I am finally almost there
Cause I can see the bright turquoise sea
I see the birds and the bright plants once again
I am here now
Fursona profileName: Dagmar EgilstrødFursona profile3 days ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Residence: Faroe Islands, may change to Iceland and/or Denmark
Favorite languages (besides English): Icelandic, Faroese, Danish, Norwegian, Swedish, German, Scottish English, French, Scottish Gaelic, and Dutch
Favorite European countries: Iceland, the Faroe Islands, Scotland, Ireland, Denmark, Norway, Sweden, Germany, and the Netherlands
Medical conditions: I'm high-functioning autistic and because of my premature birth I have mild asthma but I haven't had to use my inhaler in a couple years
Likes/loves: Sigur Rós, Jónsi, being here, my friends, keeping diaries, warm hugs, reading, Anne Frank, the Romanovs, Classic Disney, Glee, HTTYD, Brave, The Big Four, Frozen, cats, sleeping, my new blanket, drawing, Scandinavian prehistory, languages, cuisines, music, and cultures, Celtic music, my keyboard, Vikings (both the culture and the TV series), Valravn, Wardruna, the Depression/WW2 era, the Rococo style, etc.
Dislikes/is afraid of: Spiders, bugs, fire
Lies my mind told meJust write. It doesn’t matter how it starts or where it goes or if it means anything or if its even coherent just as long as there are words moving from your fingers to the keyboard. It is the sight of the words appearing on the screen in front of you that is important. It doesn’t even matter what the words are as long as they just keep coming. Remember the times when the words came almost faster than your hand could write them and they almost seemed to get ahead of themselves as your hand struggled to catch up to them. Remember not having any idea what you were even writing until a month later when you went back and read them and were often amazed and impressed that those words you were reading had actually come out of you. Or through you it seemed. It never felt they were coming out of you. It felt like they were being channeled from some other where and sent to the paper in front of you by a force over which you had no control. And there was a physical sensation that accLies my mind told me3 days ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Letter to myself...Hey You,Letter to myself...3 days ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
I know you even though you don't know me. I used to be you. It feels to me like four or five lifetimes ago but I did. I always thought that if I ever got this chance there would be a lot I would have to say to you but now that I am faced with it I find that there isn't. My message is simple. You are going to do what I did. You're going to say what I said. You're going to feel what I felt. You're going to think what I thought. There's nothing to be done to change any of that. Some of it is going to suck. Pretty bad. Some of it is going to be pretty amazing. You will spend a lot of time wondering why anyone, let alone you of all people should have to go through what you're going through and little by little you will begin to see things as I see them now and you will understand why, when you get to be me, you won't want anything to have been any different than it was. I'd say good luck but t
A Setting in Your LifeBeyond a glass window, an assortment of baked goods beckons to me from the front counter of the cafe. Behind me a line of people is beginning to form. Despite the pressure to order quickly, that familiar problem arises. Which one should I choose? The blueberry muffins look exceptionally delicious but I’ve never tasted one. Next to them, on a silver tray, are slices of pumpkin pound cake. Immediately, my craving for something sweet intensifies. But, it’s not till I notice the lonely lemon bar on a tray behind the pound cake that I settle on what to order.A Setting in Your Life3 days ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Even as I stare, salivating, I am imagining the taste of the chilled good. Its insides are moist and the top most layer is shrouded by a lavish amount of snow-powdered sugar. The decadent dessert is difficult to deny and before I can stop myself, I am ordering a single serving from the teen at the register. His sky blue eyes have been studying me with interest since I stepped up to the counter, indecisive as always. Hearing
Sara's Stories: Fake Brownies and Doggy BathtimeSara's Stories | Episode 9: Fake Brownies and Doggy BathtimeSara's Stories: Fake Brownies and Doggy Bathtime4 days ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
Here is another episode of my memoir series called Sara's Stories, and this time, there are two recollections in one.
The first story is about these fake brownies that I made for fun back when I was about eight years old. They were made with some very unusual ingredients, including clay, paint, pencil shavings, dog food, sand, leaves, pyracantha pomes (berries), leaves, sand, coffee grounds, and some muffin mix.
Amazingly, my mom allowed me to bake this bizarre mixture in the oven, and when it was finished, it was actually quite fragrant, like real brownies! I put them in a plastic container afterwards so I could play with the fake brownies later.
And here's what's funny: The next day, while my mom and I were out doing things, my father came home from work and discovered the container of fake brownies. He has always had a heck of a "sweet tooth," so when he smelled their appealing fragrance, he got
Where Home IsFor almost as long as I can remember, my mother has been sick. The first time she ever told me she wanted to die, I was eight years old. Now I’m 21 and just the other day she said to me, "Just shoot me before you leave, will you?"Where Home Is4 days ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
When I was young, I thought that if I left home my mother might die. Absences and excuses piled up. I made a home for myself inside her sadness. My only thought was to make her better. To make her happy. To make her stay. And as I grew older and left home, I found that even though I had left her physical dwelling, I had not left her mental prison. I had just built my own prison cell next door with a never-closing wrought iron gate connecting them. Home was not where I kept my things; Home was wherever I kept my sadness. The only comfort I had ever known was the deep, unforgiving chasm of grief that connected me to my mother. A sickness spanning generations.
The relationship defined my life. The clothes I wore, who I was friends with, who I dated. Anyone
Sour Cream and ChivesFlop sucks, but joking about it makes it a little easier to handle. Nobody makes more fun of me than me. I kinda need to make fun of myself sometimes to make flop seem not so crappy.Sour Cream and Chives4 days ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
One of my favorites is that, when this all started, I was sour cream and chives away from a baked potato. And that isn't really an exaggeration: I had a straw-like thing in my head and my memory would reset every few minutes. Though my sense of humour stayed in tact; someone wrapped a baked potato in a paper towel which caught fire in the microwave. Said microwave was by the BURN ward. Imagine laying in the burn ward and smelling something burning. I know I'm probably a terrible person for finding that funny...
Memoirs of Thiebault #13 - Out of Genoa From the middle of May, word had spread that the First Consul would arrive at the head of the reserve army and was manoeuvring to cut off the enemy’s retreat. On 26 May, Commandant Franceschi, one of General Soult’s aides-de-camp, whom the commander-in-chief had sent to the First Consul one month ago, came back after evading inconceivable danger; he brought back news, announcing that he was ahead of General Bonaparte’s vanguard, which he had left in the descent of the Great Saint-Bernard, and that the reserve army, once it reached Ivrea, would then march as fast as possible towards Genoa, and was due to arrive on the 30th.Memoirs of Thiebault #13 - Out of Genoa4 days ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
31 May and 1 June passed, without bringing us any succour. The officers put forward strategic reasons for this delay in our salvation, seeing favourable omens even in the most alarming clues; but the soldiers could no longer overcome their discouragement, falling into disorder and desertion. Despair,
Memoirs of Thiebault #12 - Life goes on However, another game, more serious and no less difficult, was setting up, and despite General Masséna’s vigour in ensuring our success, luck was against us in that one. We were waiting for a supplies convoy, and the English fleet, gathering in front of the harbour, left us with no chances of getting it; we still hoped for reinforcements, and General Melas at once took the heights of San Giaccomo, pushing General Suchet back on the Pietra and separating the army’s centre from its right, leaving our three corps isolated, without any possibility to take conjoined action. Gênes was thus brought down to the right wing; and the enemy, entering the campaign with five times more soldiers as we, could even have mustered ten times more had they fought each corps not separately, but successively. With an initial army of 135,000, strengthened by Piermontese and Ligurian insurgents and even supported by 15,000 Englishmen gathered in Mahon, along withMemoirs of Thiebault #12 - Life goes on5 days ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
ChildhoodWhen I think of my childhood I think of being alone and money being worth a lot of cents:Childhood5 days ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
I was in first or second grade when I started setting my alarm clock for 630, waking up without hitting snooze, and running myself a bath. Afterwards I dressed myself in plaids and stripes and polka dots and went into the kitchen for a bowl of cereal which I ate while staring at my backyard or watching cartoons. On my way out to the end of the driveway to wait for the bus, I went into my mom's bedroom and gave her a kiss goodbye, as she continued to sleep.
When I got home my mom would tell me two things:
"I was scared to death – I thought I slept late and you were missing school."
"What in the world are you wearing child!?"
And to both statements I would shrug and say:
"Don't you remember kissing me goodbye?"
"I'm wearing my clothes. Duh."
For the rest of the day I played by myself. I rode my bike all up and down the dirt road we lived on. Sometimes I would sneak into neighbor's yards an