Andy williams every time i die

Every Time I Die

2011.08.04 02:36 partywithyou Every Time I Die

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2020.04.30 00:48 We Are the ETID fans!

Other ETID subreddits are dead! This is the place to celebrate our Buffalo-based overlords in their Eternal Glory!
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2011.06.28 22:08 Pudie r/SquaredCircle

Reddit's largest professional wrestling community. Join us to discuss WWE, AEW, NJPW, Impact, Stardom, ChocoPro, GCW, and every other promotion, big or small, past and present.
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2023.06.01 04:01 Heavy-Cardiologist75 Owing the store money at cashing out?

My first day driving. I can tell you I had over $60. I did maybe 6 deliveries. Two said keep the change, the rest were credit cards with included tips. Gave them all my receipts I was told to keep by another driver, they type everything in the computer and they tell me I owe the store $44.34… I was pissed. Either someone didn’t explain the process properly, or that manager messed up or is robbing me. Or if this is how they do everything, there’s no way I’ll get caught up on bills!! HELP?! And I feel like I’m asking a million questions. Did three ride alongs, then started driving. I’ve had to ask a thousand times how to clock in and out and how to tap in and apparently I tap out of every order so my time doesn’t run, and guess who didn’t know that!
submitted by Heavy-Cardiologist75 to pizzahutemployees [link] [comments]

2023.06.01 04:00 Katalinan 33 [F4A] Ohio - I want to make some changes in my life, including finding a partner

Hi there! I recently moved to a new home, and with that change comes more changes. I’m looking to improve my life. First thing's first, I'm a rather large woman. I live in Ohio. I'm open to LDRs, but they need to have the intent of us meeting and being together, not an indefinite long-distance thing. I'm panromantic and ace. I watch a lot of movies and TV. Mostly horror, though I also like thrillers and comedy films. I watch a few YouTubers…Rhett and Link/Good Mythical Morning, Markiplier, Kitboga, the Picky Boys, and Joe Santagato.I’m trying to get into podcasts. If you know of any horror podcasts that are really creepy, and not overly cheesy haha, pass them along! I also like learning about various conspiracy theories and anything paranormal. Aliens, ghosts, lizard people, etc. I don’t believe in any of this stuff, myself, but it’s fun to learn about nevertheless. I’m interested in homesteading and ‘prepping’. In case the world goes to shit, I’d like to be able to survive at least a week or so lol.I’m trying to teach myself how to draw. I got a sketch set and have done a few tutorials. Definitely not great, but I’m going to practice and hopefully improve! I’d like to get into birdwatching and gardening, so if you like those things that’d be awesome :) My favorite TV show is The Simpsons. I’ve seen every episode multiple times. If you’re into it too, I’d love to watch it together haha. I know it’s just a cartoon, but it’s been a really big part of my life for years now. I also love American Dad, Family Guy, and South Park. A guilty pleasure of mine is taking those silly quizzes on BuzzFeed. Let’s both take them and share our results! I play on Xbox and also love WoW! I'm trying to lose weight, and have lost about 40 pounds in the last year. It's a slow process, but slow and steady wins the race! Okay, so I know this post was just a huge lump of things about my hobbies/interests, haha. I’m a pretty chill person, kind and super easygoing. I’m disabled and agoraphobic, so I don’t go out much, hence why I’m trying to meet people here. I can talk about pretty much anything, so feel free to reach out. Who knows, maybe we’ll click! :)
submitted by Katalinan to ForeverAloneDating [link] [comments]

2023.06.01 04:00 MaroonedSinceBirth Male coworker ignores me

I work with an unavailable man and I’ll admit have been pretty standoffish to him for that reason as I’m attracted and it’s not even a possibility. Even still I’m very introverted in general but do talk to one female coworker next to me for work questions mostly.
When we do speak we have one great convo every so often (although he is a bit awkward and fidgety) and then we end up ignoring each other for weeks on end afterward.
Now I notice he goes out his way talks to all the women on our side of the office especially the only female I speak with and looks over at me often when he does this.
I’m guessing he dislikes me or thinks I’m weird. I don’t understand what message he’s sending and how I can turn it around so we can be friends or maybe it’s too late after all this time for me to suddenly be talkative?
submitted by MaroonedSinceBirth to coworkerstories [link] [comments]

2023.06.01 04:00 Analypiss Durability

Key and explanation of periods where Juggernaut was stronger or weaker than normal

Durability w/ Force Field/Armor

Blunt

Piercing/Cutting

Sound

Heat

Cold

Electricity

Light

Energy

Chemical

Adhesive

Biological

Matter Manipulation

Phasing

Magic

Soul/Life Force

Power Absorption/Nullification

Mental

Durability w/o Force Field/Armor

Blunt

Piercing/Cutting

Sound

Cold

Heat

Gravity

Light

Energy

Chemical

Biological

Mental

submitted by Analypiss to JuggernautMegaRT [link] [comments]

2023.06.01 03:59 Majestic_Area_5364 Solod full dungeon

Solod full dungeon
I have soloed the dungeon. Isnt too terrible on arc hunter but do have some qualms.
1) too much health on bosses. Especially the last one. This is proof she has 13 mil.
2) the lucent knight in the final boss needs a bit of fixing. His "thunder clap" sends me in the wrong direction many times.
3) tone down the moths. Cmon there are so many of them.
All in all it was a slog for me. First actual dungeon solo. The water parts were fine, i did feel abit of inconsistancy with falling through the water. The jumping room with the second chest was actually the part where i died the most.
submitted by Majestic_Area_5364 to destiny2 [link] [comments]

2023.06.01 03:59 KadeHolmes Round 2...

...Teenage boogaloo...
So to start things off, let's talk about the positive side. From Mother's Day up to a couple weeks ago, she was the perfect little pup. Listened, hung out with everyone without a problem- she was what I was hoping to see out of her. I love this girl so much. However, from then on, the nightmare has started again. I know it's adolescence with her being 8 months old, and her brain is back to puppy mush, but she's been scaring my grandparents. Walks with just me and her for the most part have been fine, just the occasional not listening here and there but she's manageable. It's at home where she's the problem. My grandfather normally stays in his chair all day long downstairs, including when he eats lunch. The only way I can describe it is she feels entitled to his food because he usually shares with her, but all I requested was either make her work for what she gets or don't share with her at all. Now she snaps and barks when the food is brought down to him. He also just keeps repeating "no" and "lay down" and pushing her away which doesn't help the case. When he does make his way upstairs on other days, she barks at him when he uses the walker across the kitchen floor. Then he angrily shakes the walker at her, and again, that doesn't help. She also barks constantly at my mother when she arrives, but I chalk that up to when she was younger, my mother would 'playfully' scare her, and she's done this ever since. Luckily it's just barking. What also is sad, is even though she's liked at the groomer's, when she was brought into get groomed, she was a total menace and wouldn't allow her paws to be touched. I work with her feet a lot of the time to have her used to it, but I failed. Tonight is was triggered me to ask for help again though.. Today was an ok day with her. She was relatively chill and listened to me when a lot was going on. It wasn't until tonight when I was out doing chores, I gave her a beef cheek to chew. When I come back in, she's eaten quite a bit of it and there's bits and pieces on the floor. With every other treat she's had, I've been able to hold them while she chewed, point to crumbs on the floor around her, and lay on the floor by her while she ate them, and there's been absolutely no problems. This time though, when I was pointing out the pieces not even that close to her, she snapped at me multiple times, no true growl to indicate that she was going to since she's never really growled, especially at me, before. Now, on one hand, I get that that's a highly valued treat to her, but on the other that was a first, and we're all pretty upset about it. I don't know what to do to not have that escalate...
She doesn't listen to my grandfather, and she doesn't listen to my grandmother. Is it because I literally do everything for her? I know I am the only one who physically can. Unfortunately, as much as my grandmother tries to deny it, I'm also the only one putting in the work. And as much as it upsets me, I am not good enough apparently. I've researched trainers in the area, but none of them seem to use true positive reinforcement, and if my grandparents, and everyone else for the matter, don't even attempt what I suggest to at least try and get on the same page, I don't want money wasted if the right trainer is found. I get called the 'Animal expert' but no one listens.
I don't want to fail my dog...
submitted by KadeHolmes to Dogtraining [link] [comments]

2023.06.01 03:59 sallyarts I just don't understand shit anymore.

I have developed all the hacky ways of doing regular work, taking a bath, brushing teeth, cleaning room. I am able to watch movies now, play games, read books, learn stuff but I zone out every time. I forget that I can do things. The disassociation breaks every single thing apart. I don't know what to call this. It feels like all the appendanges have been attatched to a handicapped person but still the soul is broken. It just sucks a whole fucking lot.
I don't have a PURPOSE to do stuff and it's because everything feels painful to me. Pain is the problem here. Pain sucks. I have the innate motivation but the pain stops me from attempting to do anything and if I don't do anything I mentally self flagellate. It's hell. FUCKING. HELL.
submitted by sallyarts to CPTSD [link] [comments]

2023.06.01 03:59 Inevitable-Date170 How do you get over the deep rooted mental stigma???

I have severe anxiety / ptsd and recently got my medical card. I have lived with this for so long, my throat will constantly feel like it's closing up and my blood pressure has been high and I would wake up a couple times a week with night terrors. I was reaching my mental limit.
I got my card and have partook every other day or so for the past week. When I smoke, it's one small hit. I don't even feel high, just total body relaxed and anxiety is GONE. The difference is amazing. I can breath a deep breath, and my blood pressure is lower after just a week. I am happier, and a better mom / wife because I'm not snapping at everyone all the time. I haven't had a single night terror. That one hit lasts about 48 hours for me then I feel that anxiety slowly start creeping back in.... rinse repeate.
What I have a hard time with, is the annoying feeling of "I'm a druggie" every time I medicate. It's stupid, I know. I've never had an issue with people who smoke, and have done it myself a few times. Its just the fact Im doing it so often that gives me an icky feeling. I know it's medicine for me. But it's there. I've never been one to take medicine for anything.... but I wouldn't feel that if I drank a beer, or popped a lexapro or xanax every day. Why do I feel it with medical? How do you get over that?
submitted by Inevitable-Date170 to medicalmarijuana [link] [comments]

2023.06.01 03:59 More_Ad8221 Did I retraumatize my client?

Without providing too many details, I have a long term client who decided that they would like to explore some traumas from their past. As per usual, safety measures were established and expectations were discussed. Since discussion of the trauma occurred, the client is feeling extremely raw (e.g., not a typical therapy hangover). I have reminded them that we don’t have to talk about the trauma directly to help them move past it, that their needs are important in and out of session, and self care is essential. However, they appear to be dissociating at time, and are struggling to feel safe.
I’ve done every trauma informed technique I can think of and now I’m experiencing some pretty tough transference. I feel so guilty, like I’ve caused them this rawness and pain. It’s hard to sleep, and although I’ve discussed this with colleagues and my supervisor, I’m having a hard time shaking off my shame. I’m terrified of retraumatizing my clients, and I feel that I have.
Any words of advice on how to help my client, or myself, would be much appreciated. How do we navigate talking about trauma, when the client wants to talk about it directly? How do I stop myself from this unrealistic feeling of responsibility for saving them? What do we do when clients feel raw for weeks after session?
submitted by More_Ad8221 to therapists [link] [comments]

2023.06.01 03:58 Betty-Adams "Flying Sparks" A novel of a boy, a dragon, and an alien. 100K words of science fiction adventure.

Flying Sparks

Pre Order Now

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https://i.redd.it/bqo2debncb3b1.gif

Chapter 2

“Hazardous? I’ll show that manipulative, misanthropic, anti-establishment cretin just what hazardous means if he thinks I’m going to fold on this!”
The sound of vigorous guitar riffs made a fitting accompaniment to the angry tirade despite originating on opposite sides of the communal area. Ama was glaring at a laptop that sat on a stained oak desk shoved against the large table near the kitchen. She tapped a fingernail on the wood as she read through the alert.
“And what violation of basic human dignity has her royal prudishness’s undies in a bunch?” Em demanded with an affected sneer without looking up from his guitar scales.
“Oh you’ll agree with this one tree-hugger,” Drake muttered from where he sat oiling his work boots.
“Yeah,” Donny piped up, “Finney is trying to kill a perfectly healthy fir.”
“What!” Em demanded, carefully placing his battered old acoustic guitar down in its case and darting over to look at the computer screen. “You mean apark tree?”
Despite her simmering frustration Ama allowed a small smile to flicker across her face as she continued to type.
“Get out of your pajamas and I’ll tell you,” Drake ordered pointing towards the bathroom door with a stained rag. “School starts in forty-five minutes and you still have breakfast and chores. That goes for you too Pip-squirt.”
“I hope you washed your hands before you touched our food,” Em said with a frown.
“Boot grease makes a great source of fatty acids.” Drake retorted. “Now go!”
The two smaller boys muttered in annoyance but stumbled off to follow orders.
“So what is up?” the youth asked as he bent his head back over the smooth leather of his boots.
“Mrs. Finney wants that tree down that’s blocking her perfect view of Crescent Lake.” Ama replied in a dry tone.
“One that’s clearly on park property?” Drake asked.
“Indeedy-do.” Ama replied giving the paper in front of her a glare.
“So how’s she justifying it?” Drake asked.
“As a safety hazard to her house.” Ama replied.
“And?”
The biologist groaned and rubbed her face.
“As far as I can tell the trunk is perfectly healthy. There is an old trash can lid grown into the trunk and a little discolored sap is leaking out there.”
“Frass?”
“Watch your language!” Donny interjected as he darted up to the table.
“Frass is not a bad word,” Drake stated. “Have you let the chickens out?”
“Yes, what does frass mean?” Donny asked as he started piling stir-fry onto his plate.
“Look it up.” Drake ordered him. “Emerald! Breakfast ends in ten minutes! Get your tukus down here!”
“It’s bad health to rush meals,” Em snapped out as he came down a narrow stairway with deliberate slowness.
“It’s even worse for your health to skip meals altogether,” Drake growled threateningly.
“Shut it and give me some eggs.” Em snapped back.
“Emerald Waters Undersun,” Drake hissed out through gritted teeth. “You are going to get your own eggs.”
The boy threw himself into a chair and glared at Drake with challenge in every line of his body.
“Emerald,” Ama said in a calm tone. “I think you should apologize to your cousin now.”
“Sorry I disturbed you Ama,” he offered without breaking eye contact with Drake.
“Not me, him,” Ama said.
“Sorry you had to hear that Donny.” Em said.
Ama heaved a sigh and closed her computer.
“Emerald,” Ama said.
“Do you want to eat or go hungry?” Drake demanded.
Ama glanced at him with a familiar uneasy look in her eyes and Drake fought down a wince.
“Now, Em.” she said in a patient tone.
“I’ll go hungry,” Em snapped, jumping up and stalking over to the couch.
Donny kept his eyes fixed on his plate. Ama heaved a sigh before turning back to her computer. Em wriggled on the couch for several minutes before skulking back to the table. Drake moved to intercept him but Ama stopped him with a look and he let Em serve himself. Drake cast irritated glances at the wall clock as the time crept more and more into school time.
Ama closed her computer and stood, then sighed, sat and opened it again.
“I need to pick out their report topics,” Ama muttered.
“I could do it,” Drake offered.
“You do quite enough,” Ama replied briskly, as she scanned the news. “Here you go. For Donny, malfunctions at the Lewis- McChord Air Force Base air show.” A frown creased her face. “Wow, this is pretty serious. It looks like the F-16 demonstration team nearly got killed.”
Drake whistled and leaned over her shoulder.
“Multiple system failures,” he read out loud. “I am pretty sure that isn’t supposed to happen.”
“Nope,” Ama agreed. “Here is a topic on big game management for Em.”
“Reports due by next week?” Drake asked as the old printer on the desk began to squeal and grumble as it powered up.
“Same as usual,” Ama confirmed.
Drake put the printouts on top of the homework pile and moved to wash up the breakfast dishes.
“I need to get to work early today so you two be good for Drake,” she called out placing a quick kiss on top of the smaller boys’ heads and giving Drake’s shoulder a friendly squeeze.
“Good luck with Mrs. Finney, and stay safe.” Drake called out as she went into her room.
The table was cleaned off and wiped down and the clink of forks gave way to the steady scratch of pencils on paper. They broke for a recess after religion and then lunch after history and math, and by the time the Grandfather clock in the corner struck two the younger boys twitching with energy. Drake made certain the internet was disconnected at the router, and chased Donny and Em out into the garden.
“And don’t come in until dark,” he ordered tossing two snack bags out after them.
Donny as usual snatched his food and disappeared into the small orachard. Low grumbles about troglodytes and the Amish wandered out into the high corn following Em and Drake shook his head in exasperation wondering, not for the first time how the dark haired princeling came from the same gene pool as his little brother. The kitchen being mostly ordered Drake was turning to put the last random dirty sock in the hamper when a gnarled hand clutching a cane head appeared in the corner of his eye, causing his heart to make a valiant attempt to bolt out of his throat.
“Abuelita!” he gasped forcing his hands down from the guard position. “Where did you come from?”
Smoldering black eyes ran searchingly over the tall youth. An impossibly long mane of streaked silver and black hair was barely contained in a thick braid. A sharply pointed nose perched over a small wrinkled mouth. A vibrant red horse-hair serape hung over her shoulders concealing everything except her brown and gnarled hands which currently clutched the old tree branch she used as a cane. Drake had been more than a little comforted by the fact that both Em and Donny had admitted to having the thought ‘witch’ every time time they saw her as well.
“From the hand of God by the bodies of my sainted mother and father,” she replied after a long, uncomfortable silence.
She always spoke in a low husky voice that suggested years of smoking, though Drake had never smelled even stale smoke on her.
“Right,” Drake blinked and grinned at the response; the one she always gave. “So you are here for their Spanish lesson? I have their grammar books ready and-”
The narrow end of the tree branch rapped against the concrete of the floor causing Drake to jump. Abuelita glared at him, locking his gaze and holding him in place with it for a moment.
“I am here for their lessons,” she finally stated, “and you are there for my payment.”
Drake thought longingly of the repair and maintenance manuals in the cab of the truck and the new tool he was itching to try, but he forced a grin on his face.
“Yes ma’am,” he said. “What can I get you today?”
Abuelita pulled out a bag of woven grass from under her serape causing the indistinct patterns on the cloth to shift and change.
“Take this,” she ordered him, “and collect me the cobalt blue berries that grow on a single stalk close to the ground. They must come from the mountain to the south east of here by the crystal brook.”
Drake nodded, and took the little bag, he didn’t quite manage to infused his gestures with enthusiasm he supposed. The old woman, probably wouldn’t have noted it anyway. She turned and moved towards the garden door without waiting for any other reply. However she called out over her shoulder as he turned to find his own way out of the rambling structure.
“Don’t dawdle little one. A storm brews in the distance.”
He tried not to roll his eyes at that, the weather forecast was clear and eighties for the next week according to the morning fire report Ama had printed. The youth only nodded and slipped around the corner. He circled the barn and pulled a set of loose tan pants and tunic out of the cubby. The soft worn leather almost perfectly matched the forest floor for color as did the moccasins he pulled on after them. His morning running clothes were modern stuff that wicked the sweat away from him and let him speed through the forest. These were his free day clothes. The ones that let him disappear into the forest and wander. Abuelita, for all of her demands, would tend Em and Donny until he returned no matter how late that was, and with the Park’s yearly budget talks still under way it was highly unlikely Ama would be home until long after the sun had set. Despite still hearing the call of the half restored truck he felt something lossening in him already. The soft cotton and smooth leather rested easily against his skin and Drake slipped into the forest.
Freedom; for the moment at least, blissful freedom. Pushing aside the guilt that accompanied the thought as well as any lingering worries about his charges the youth let his legs carry him through the trees. He shunned the man made paths, following the faint animal trails. This close to the barn they were as clear to him as if they were named city streets. Being animal trails, they invariably led him to water. Today he stopped at a trickling stream, took off his moccasins, and rolled up his pants legs. The youth turned and followed the thin flow of icy water upstream, letting it steal the heat from his body through his feet.
Some distance upstream, the stream widened and pooled under a boulder. There Drake paused and pulled an old black compass out of his pocket. Behind him he knew every trail and tree. Ahead was a broad swath of National Wilderness he would have to cross, or possibly Bureau of Land Management or even state managed forests where he more rarely wandered. It was hard to tell where the boundaries were from the ground. The clearing he wanted for the berries was solidly in BLM land and he still had quite a ways to go to get there. The stand of timber that stood between him and his goal was dense with young tree and branches that frequently formed impenetrable hedges he had to track around and he checked his compass regularly as he climbed in elevation. Even so the youth found he had wandered too far off his route and had to correct when he spotted the boundary fence. However he was in no hurry and he reached the clearing long before the sun told him it was time to turn around.
Sometime in the past some unknown force had carved a shallow trench across the side of one of the small mountains that that dotted the wilderness. It had puzzled Drake at first. The scour was at the wrong angle to be an old rock slide, and terminated in a near perfectly circular clearing at the lower end. Centuries old Douglas Firs abruptly gave way to a second ring only a few decades old. Those were in turn beginning to produce cones and a smattering of knee high saplings. The rest of the space was completely given over to wildflowers. No matter what season Drake visited it he found a riot of life.
There had been an early spring and many herbs that normally would have waited a month or more were already in full bloom in the mountain meadow. A white wave of foamflower washed in from the deep forest surrounding the clearing, sending up knee high stalks covered in the delicate white blooms. Late trillium hid close to the roots of the great firs, many having shed their white corollas and begun to put forth their bulbous seed heads. Fuzzy white baneberry blossoms nodded gently in the breeze. A riot of yellow and purple spread across the ground as vetch and buttercups and a host of clovers competed for space in the open sun. Great stalks of lupine as high as his head thrust up their purple and blue proudly from thick clusters of palm shaped leaves. Pink shooting stars and violet harebells crouched under the protection of the larger plants. Indian paintbrush lit the scene with flames of red and orange. Where a spring seeped into the meadow elephant’s head flared neon pink and corydalis bushes put forth blushing blooms. Pale green wild orchids stood along the wet spot and the swarms of bees danced from them to the glacier lilies.
Sometimes, as he bent over a tiny blossom and traced the intricate network of veins in the petals, drank in the scent, and felt the smooth surface of the leaves an otherworldly feeling would come over him. It was as if there was another world just out of range of his senses. If he could only really look, the thin illusion that was blocking him would slip away and reveal the real world underneath it.
“Look Awiegwa,” his father would whisper, pointing at a deer mouse perched on a fallen log. “What does it see?”
Awiegwa would screw up his face and squint. Trying to find the answer to the question.
Awiegwa had often wondered how so many flowers had come to be in the relatively small area. He had identified dozens of species and there were more he had yet to determine. The clearing was always the first place to bloom and the last to go dormant. Many of the flowers seemed to utterly defy their usual blooming patterns. However, as time passed he had simply come to accept it. It was one of the small good things that brought back the memories of his father. If it didn’t quite follow the rules Ama had taught him, well an impossible clearing in the mountains wasn’t a place for rules.
The particular bloom that Abuelita had requested had taken full advantage of the early sun and had already put forth a few cobalt blue berries; easily spotted at the edge of the clearing in the delicate sea of white flowers.
However before he left the shade of the forest for the meadow the youth paused and closed his eyes. Bole wasn’t always here, but he was often enough that Awiegwa always checked for him. Carefully he reconstructed the clearing in his mind; marking every tree and boulder on the edge. Three years he had been coming here and each time it was easier to recreate the clearing. Breathing evenly he opened his eyes, letting the mental image merge with the actual. There was a brief moment of confusion as details like the play of light through branches and the trembling of small clusters of flowers fixed themselves but there was only one truly jarring note. Awiegwa didn’t let his eyes focus on the disparity; he never did anymore, but a warm smile spread across his features as he slipped silently into the meadow.
He was here. As the youth moved in a low crouch, gathering the first fruits of the Queen’s Cup, he let his peripheral vision linger on a particular snag. There was nothing obviously interesting about it, other than the fact that it had not been there the last time Awiegwa was here. He had named the wanderer Bole, because it most often appeared as a thick tree trunk; sometimes living, sometimes dead. Occasionally it would be a boulder or simply a mound in the dirt. Often it wasn’t in the clearing at all. If the youth moved forward and tried to closely examine it he could never find anything to suggest it was something other than a tree or rock.
He had thought about taking a sample occasionally, had taken his knife out to do just that more than once, but something always held him back. Bole was a part of this place. Dissecting him would be too much like attempting to dissect his sense of his father’s presence here. The youth had never told anyone about this place, not even Ama with who could get most things out of him easily enough. Down at the house, in town, when he was Drake; solid, reliable, first up in the morning, two grades ahead in school with a penchant for science Drake, a productive member of modern society with a promising future and his mother smiling at him. Here he could be Awiegwa. Here he could believe in the ancient medicines his father had dug out of dusty old tomes and brought to life from the forest litter. Every time Awiegwa left the clearing and headed back towards home reality would reassert itself. Bole would resolve back into a figment of his imagination, created from pride in a somewhat better than average memory and what the social workers had called an “intriguing imagination”. When he reached the house and become solidly Drake again flickers of embarrassment would begin eating at him for letting his senses trick him like that, but as long as the blooms nodded around him in this garden Bole could exist even on a Thursday.
The little woven grass bag filled up with the berries fairly quickly and Awiegwa soon stretched out of his crouch and let his gaze wander contentedly over the clearing. As it always did, the warm space was working its special magic. Worries about Em getting out of his schoolwork, of not paying enough attention to the quiet Donny, of letting Ama see his petty resentments: it had all melted away from his muscles, thoughts of college costs and abandoning his duties dissolved into an acute sense of the now. The leaves rustled softly in a barely-there breeze, the heavy scent of some unidentified blossom filled his lungs, a dozen shades of green framed the rainbow of flowers, and over and above it all the creaking of the firs as the wind played over them. It was at times like these that he felth he could almost see into heaven; that something wonderful that existed just beyond his senses, and all he had to do was reach out and claim it.
The youth took a deep breath and let himself fall backwards onto a handy rise in the forest floor. His path had taken him to the foot of the snag and he shifted slightly to align himself with the gnarled roots. One hand gripped a time smoothed root.
“Ama trusted me enough to go out of state,” he murmured. “That’s the first time she’s done that. Usually she has Abulita stay with us to fend off the Harsh, but she said it’s long past legal now.”
It was his imagination of course that made him think the root vibrated in his hand in response. Many a long hour he had spent in this clearing with the wanderer. He had poured out his frustrations and anguishes over life’s injustices, had shared his secrets as he grew, and had shouted his triumphs. Sometimes he felt closer to Bole than to any of his human friends. However, something that sounded like his mother’s voice warned him that there was something odd about this and that awareness was the main reason he had kept this place secret from Ama. Their mother hadn’t exactly liked stuff like that. She had never objected to his father’s digging up the old stories of her people. Making cross generational connections between elders, who more often than not lived isolated lives, and the next generation, was an admirable goal in of itself in her eyes; objectively a social good. Storytelling was only the natural course for these relationships to take, but subtle looks had warned even a very young Drake that it was best to cautious what he shared with his mother. At least of those things that couldn’t be placed on a microscope slide. So this was Awigewa’s place, and while his father’s spirit wanders the flowers with he had never felt his mother here.
He let his focus drift up, and up. Dark blue Lupine nodded over his head framing the faint crisscross of jet contrails that threw a light haze over an otherwise cloudless sky. His clothed grew deliciously hot from the spring sun. The ground too had eagerly accepted the energy and now it conducted the heat into the muscles of his back. Bole’s wood beneath him was warmer even than the surrounding ground and an idle thought traced across Awiegwa’s awareness; something about it being odd for the light colored wood and relatively dry wood to retain more heat than the darker soil surrounding it. His mind was filled with the impression of a goal. He had been meaning to do, something. Something fun, yes, exploring, he’d meant to see if whatever had dug that den by the second boulder was cubing this year. He would just get up and do that in a minute. His back was so warm and comfortable.
​
https://i.redd.it/zafjty1qcb3b1.gif
“Flying Sparks”
Another foray into the lives of Drake McCarty, Ama Love, and the rest of their siblings as they discover that something alien is out in the forest around their home.
https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/flying-sparks-a-novel-of-dragon-bear-and-boy/coming_soon
#FlyingSparks #ScienceFiction #Scifi #Story #novel #book #DrakeMcCarty #AmaLove #Donny #Em #Bard #Bole #Aliens #Spaceships #Crystals #fireflies #NPS #NationalPark #Doctor #Sever #family #storm #writing #reading #drama #literature #author #BettyAdams #DyingEmbers #Dragons #ThingsThatGoBoomp #Indiegogo #CrowdFunding
submitted by Betty-Adams to Indiegogo [link] [comments]

2023.06.01 03:58 i_love_food_1974 Experiences with dating

I am a 48 year old male. I subscribed to match. Won't do it again. I will let the 6 month run out and not renew it. I find the women i have met over the years either are nuts or have no patience. I have met 2 women over match recently.
42 year old woman. She told me her requirements were that she wanted sex 3 times per day. someone to cook for her. take her to work. She tried to plan 3 dates right in a row with me. Bowling, the casino and a trip to the strip joint with her and her male friend and then got mad when i said no to that. Needless to say. I didn't meet her again.
Yesterday. I had a dinner with a 52 year old woman. Before meeting her. We talked on match for about 15 hours or so over several days. I figured that was a good sign. Went to eat. Had a good time. I thought it went well. She said she had a fine time.
Today she tells me she doesn't want to go on another date with me but still want to be friends. I am sorry ,but i don't believe men and women can just be friends. it doesn't work and besides I didn't pay for match to find a friend. She tells me that there was no connection or chemistry . She could have fool me last night. Because she told me before she went in her car that she wanted to see me soon. She rattled off a laundry list of things about me.
I don't do yard work. i don't have a huge lawn. I don't have a lawnmower. The lawn in the front of my house is at an incline and it is hard. I have high blood pressure . I don't want a heart attack doing the lawn. Besides. I have no place on my property to even store a lawn mower . So i pay someone $30 every 2 weeks in the summer to do that lawn. If i need shrubs trimmer or branches cut. He does that and rakes the leaves in the fall. I'm not lazy. It's tiring for me.
She has dogs , but i am suddenly a cat person because i have 3 cats. I have 3 cats because they were my mother's before she died. I had 5 , but 2 of them passed.
I don't wear cologne She thinks i'm allergic to it. Never said i was. I just don't like it. I think it is a waste of money.
I'm not a neat freak.
And she mentioned a couple other petty things, but i deleted her text because i was tired of wasting my time.
Could have fooled me. Before she even went home. We had even talked about seeing a couples that are coming out soon. My point with that. I would think that a person who was married for a bunch of years in a bad marriage and now divorced for over a decade would be more patient and give someone more leeway who is being nice and polite. I was fine with the fact that she has kids/grandkids and is on call for 2 weeks at a time.
Maybe it is just me. My only experience is with women. I figure there is no patience. Any little thing to them seems to be a deal breaker. If you fart the wrong way. that's that
submitted by i_love_food_1974 to dating [link] [comments]

2023.06.01 03:58 cmc9819 Am I the only one who’s bothered by the way she says jewelry?? She says “joowry” and it irks me every. Single. Time. 🫠

submitted by cmc9819 to katieclarksnark [link] [comments]

2023.06.01 03:58 Unique-Figure6612 [ONLINE COURSE] Swinggcat – Phone Game Audio Course

[ONLINE COURSE] Swinggcat – Phone Game Audio Course

Swinggcat – Phone Game Audio Course

LINK DOWNLOAD: https://www.datingcourse.net/swinggcat-phone-game-audio-course/

Description of Phone Game Audio Course

Would It Really Be That Easy To Consistently Turn Phone Numbers Into Dates, Sex, & Even Relationships?”
The Answer Is Yes And If You’re Ready To Learn Secrets That Emotionally Drive Women To Think About, Obsess Over, & Desire You To Ask Them Out Long Before You Suggest Getting Together With Them, Keep Reading.
From: Swinggcat Author of “Real World Seduction”
Dear friend,
Has something like this ever happened to you.
You meet a girl.
Spark attraction.
Fuse a connection.
Maybe lock lips with her.
Get her number.
Maybe your friends look at you with awe.
It’s on like Donkey Kong.
Or so you think.
But when you contact her, she doesn’t respond.
Or.
Texts you the dreaded “Who is this?”
Or.
She texts with you a few times before ignoring you forever.
Or.
She becomes your text buddy and has no interest in getting together with you.
Or.
Every time you make plans with her, she flakes.
If you answered YES, give yourself a huge pat on the back because.
By admitting to yourself that this is something you need to work on, you’ve taken the first step to fixing it.
If you ask most men if they’ve ever had a number go sour, they’ll puff out their chest and say, “Nah, man. I’ve got mad game. Girls always respond to my texts.”
Their selective memories conveniently remember only the numbers that turned into dates, sex, and relationships. Erased from their memory banks are the dozens of numbers that went sour.
The Cold-Hard Truth:
Every Heterosexual Male On The Planet Has Gotten A Girl’s Number, & Thought It Was A Sure Thing.
But When He Contacted Her, She Never Responded, Rendered Him Her Text Buddy, Or Kept Flaking On Him.
This may have left him languishing in a dark, dark place.
One minute he felt on top of the world; the next, he felt rejected, pathetic, and smaller than a gnat.
Maybe “Bitch,” “whore,” “flake,” and every other dirty word in the book swam through his mind.
Maybe he ran through each of his perceived flaws, shortcomings, and inadequacies.
Maybe the words, ” You idiot. She was never into you. You’re not good enough for her,” echoed inside his head again and again.
Only God Knows How Many Times A Phone Number Went Sour On Me.
A thousand?
Two thousand times?
I shudder thinking about.
Even after honing my skills at picking up women, my phone game stunk.
Night-after-night, I left friends stunned and awed by how quickly I’d make out with the hottest girls at the bar.
All of them envied my dating life.
But here’s the inconvenient truth.
Most of the girls I picked up, I never saw again.
On the plus side, I perfected my skills at getting one-night-stands.
But the reality is this: not every interested girl will go home with you that night. Plus, you can sleep with only one (maybe two) girls at a time.
Because I lacked phone game, I missed out on a lot of quality pootang.
I developed a mature attitude: If a number went sour, it’s okay. It’s just not meant to be.
But it wasn’t okay. I’d grown complacent and was leaving a lot of opportunities on the table.
The Game Is Played Over The Phone.
And The Longer You Wait To Fix Your Phone Game, The More Opportunities You’ll Miss Out On.
https://preview.redd.it/rr4nyjrncb3b1.png?width=600&format=png&auto=webp&s=4e42a7a3598cccf2a8e6cd035ae91b69de342b4a
submitted by Unique-Figure6612 to u/Unique-Figure6612 [link] [comments]

2023.06.01 03:57 giwook Are all of these tests worth $499?

I'm considering this new medical testing service called Function (one of the cofounders being Dr. Mark Hyman) that offers a $499 annual fee in exchange for a plethora of lab tests along with insights on what to do any of the results.
I'm a relatively healthy male in my 30s and do not present with any significant symptoms, and that is not the reason why I'm interested in this product. I do take an extreme interest in my physiological health and go to great lengths to manage my physical fitness, diet, and sleep in order to maximize my health both in the present and into the future, and I would be interested in seeing my results on probably most of these tests.
I know that statistically speaking I'm unlikely to discover anything that will completely change my life as a result of these tests. I think I'm more interested in perhaps taking this battery of tests once every few years to see how my results trend over time, and I imagine the tests will start to take on more significance starting over the next decade as I start to get into my 40s.
Anyway, I'm just curious if you think $499 is worth it for all of these tests. Would it make sense to potentially get a significant majority of these tests done through my own PCP and be able to bill it to insurance, though I imagine my insurance would balk at paying for so many tests when I'm not presenting with any symptoms.
Note: The tests with a ● at the end denote that these are administered 2x/year. Everything else is 1x. (This list is also viewable on their website: https://www.functionhealth.com/whats-included)
Heart Lipoprotein (a) Apolipoprotein B (Apo B) LDL Particle Number LDL Small LDL Medium HDL Large LDL Pattern LDL Peak Size High-Sensitivity C-Reactive Protein (hsCRP) Triglycerides ● Total Cholesterol ● LDL Cholesterol ● HDL Cholesterol ● Non-HDL Cholesterol ● Cholesterol / HDL Ratio ●
Thyroid Thyroid-Stimulating Hormone (TSH) Triiodothyronine (T3), Free Thyroxine (T4), Free Thyroglobulin Antibodies (TgAb) Thyroid Peroxidase Antibodies (TPO)
Autoimmunity Antinuclear Antibodies (ANA) Titer Antinuclear Antibodies (ANA) Screen Antinuclear Antibodies (ANA) Pattern Rheumatoid Factor (RF) (tested once) Immune Regulation High-Sensitivity C-Reactive Protein (hsCRP) White Blood Cell (WBC) Count ● ‍Neutrophils (% and Absolute) ● Lymphocytes (% and Absolute) ● Monocytes (% and Absolute) ● Eosinophils (% and Absolute) ● Basophils (% and Absolute) ●
Male Health (there is an equivalent section for Female Health) Prostate Specific Antigen (PSA) %, Free Prostate Specific Antigen (PSA), Free Prostate Specific Antigen (PSA), Total Testosterone, Total Testosterone, Free Prolactin DHEA-Sulfate Follicle Stimulating Hormone (FSH) Luteinizing Hormone (LH) Sex Hormone Binding Globulin (SHBG)
Metabolic Adiponectin Leptin Uric Acid Glucose ● Hemoglobin A1c (HbA1c) ● Insulin ●
Nutrients Omega 6/Omega 3 Ratio Omega 3 and 6: EPA/Arachidonic Acid Ratio Omega 3 and 6: Arachidonic Acid Omega 3 and 6: EPA Omega 3 and 6: DHA Omega 3 (EPA+DHA) Index Omega Risk Methylmalonic Acid (MMA) Vitamin D Zinc Magnesium Iron Iron Binding Capacity Iron % Saturation Ferritin Homocysteine
Liver & Kidney Gamma-glutamyl Transferase (GGT) Albumin - Urine (Microalbumin) Total Protein ● Albumin ● Total Bilirubin ● Blood Urea Nitrogen (BUN) ● Creatinine ● BUN / Creatinine Ratio ● Globulin ● Albumin / Globulin Ratio ● Aspartate Transaminase (AST) ● ‍Chloride ● Calcium ● Potassium ● ‍Alanine Aminotransferase (ALT) ● ‍Sodium ● Alkaline Phosphatase (ALP) ● Estimated Glomerular Filtration Rate (eGFR) ●‍
Pancreas Amylase Lipase
Heavy Metals Lead Mercury
Electrolytes Sodium ● Calcium ● Potassium ● Chloride ● Carbon Dioxide ● Magnesium
Blood ABO Group and Rhesus Factor (tested once) Red Blood Cell (RBC) Count ● Hemoglobin ● Hematocrit ● Mean Corpuscular Volume (MCV) ● Mean Corpuscular Hemoglobin Concentration (MCHC) ● Mean Corpuscular Hemoglobin (MCH) ● Platelet Count ● Red Cell Distribution Width (RDW) ● ‍Mean Platelet Volume (MPV) ●‍
Urine pH ● Specific Gravity ● Glucose ● Protein ● Bilirubin ● Ketones ● Appearance ● White Blood Cell (WBC) ● Red Blood Cell (RBC) ● Nitrite ● Leukocytes ● Occult Blood ● Color ● Bacteria ● Hyaline Casts ● Squamous Epithelial Cells ● Albumin - Urine (Microalbumin) Creatinine - Urine Albumin/Creatinine Ratio - Urine
Stress & Aging Cortisol DHEA Sulfate
Biometrics Height ● Weight ● Waist Circumference ● Blood Pressure, Systolic ● Blood Pressure, Diastolic ●
submitted by giwook to AskDocs [link] [comments]

2023.06.01 03:57 tofu-tofuest i can't cut my hair

This feels like a strange thing to talk about, so I haven't really mentioned it to anyone. In part, because it feels silly, but I think that it's mostly because I'm afraid someone will tell me it's silly. So this is me, trying to talk about it.
So, growing up I was a big fan of the bob haircut. Easy to wash, comfortable to play and exercise in, no need for styling... As a kid, it was a sweet deal. As a teen and young adult, it became more of a every time I got bored, I would take scissors and do something new to my hair. It was just hair, in the end, made to be cut.
I never used to end up letting it grow long.
But back in 2020 I stopped cutting it. The pandemic hit and I wasn't really worried about my appearance, I wasn't leaving the house. And by the time restrictions lowered, it was waaaaay longer than it had ever been before.
Through its growing process, She used to love it (my best friend who passed away). She'd play with it, try new hairstyles, help me dye it, curl it, etc. And she'd always say she loved my hair.
So much so that, when we were allowed to go outside again, I decided to keep it long for a bit longer.
It kept growing until it nearly reached my bum (pardon my french).
Then she died.
Getting a haircut was most certainly not a priority at that point. It wasn't until 5 months later that I realized the split ends were getting drastic. And I scheduled a haircut.
When the time came... I remember sitting on the salon chair and feeling everything get fuzzy. I started panicking. I remember smiling and trying to act normal.
I just couldn't deal with the thought of cutting my hair. I fought like hell to keep the tears at bay as I begged the hair-dresser to cut as little as possible. And I had this feeling of ABSOLUTE FEAR because I'm losing control.
I had an awful panic attack the second I left the salon.
I couldn't look at my reflection without freaking out after that. She didn't even cut much, like, easily just 3 fingers; there was, logically, not much difference from how I looked before. But the panic was huge.
After that, I think I went about 8-9 months before I mustered up the courage to give it a trim again. And the same thing happened. I cried, I panicked, I dissociated for days...
And it sounds so... small. Like, out of EVERYTHING, I'm fixating on something that wasn't relevant to either me or Her for the first 21 years of our lives?
It's so... I can't even express myself. It's frustrating, it's painful, it feels like proof of how not-okay I still am.
But god, I miss her. And she said she liked my hair. And now I can't cut it.
​
Anyway, does anyone have anything similar going on? And if so, any advice?
Tbh I haven't talked to anyone about this before, but I've got bad split ends again and I started panicking this morning.
submitted by tofu-tofuest to SuicideBereavement [link] [comments]

2023.06.01 03:57 Adventurous_Honey902 Problem with the ranked system is mostly the matchmaking, not the rats

Seriously, I tend to only die to the sweatiest chasing pred teams. Almost every death is someone with a 20 bomb, master / pred badge. I don't mind this new ranked system, but being paired with some of the best players is obnoxious.
submitted by Adventurous_Honey902 to apexlegends [link] [comments]

2023.06.01 03:56 Tuna-fishy13 My squish net and shelf set up is complete and I’m in love <3

My squish net and shelf set up is complete and I’m in love <3
Just wanted to show my collection to others that will appreciate it! I started collecting a year ago and got into collecting squish since they gave me some comfort while I’ve been struggling with my health. I put a lot of effort into my set up and it makes me smile every time I look at it, hope you enjoy :)
submitted by Tuna-fishy13 to squishmallows [link] [comments]

2023.06.01 03:56 Betty-Adams "Flying Sparks" A novel of a boy, a dragon, and an alien. 100K words of science fiction adventure.

Flying Sparks

Pre Order Now

​
https://i.redd.it/kd8youy5cb3b1.gif

Chapter 2

“Hazardous? I’ll show that manipulative, misanthropic, anti-establishment cretin just what hazardous means if he thinks I’m going to fold on this!”
The sound of vigorous guitar riffs made a fitting accompaniment to the angry tirade despite originating on opposite sides of the communal area. Ama was glaring at a laptop that sat on a stained oak desk shoved against the large table near the kitchen. She tapped a fingernail on the wood as she read through the alert.
“And what violation of basic human dignity has her royal prudishness’s undies in a bunch?” Em demanded with an affected sneer without looking up from his guitar scales.
“Oh you’ll agree with this one tree-hugger,” Drake muttered from where he sat oiling his work boots.
“Yeah,” Donny piped up, “Finney is trying to kill a perfectly healthy fir.”
“What!” Em demanded, carefully placing his battered old acoustic guitar down in its case and darting over to look at the computer screen. “You mean apark tree?”
Despite her simmering frustration Ama allowed a small smile to flicker across her face as she continued to type.
“Get out of your pajamas and I’ll tell you,” Drake ordered pointing towards the bathroom door with a stained rag. “School starts in forty-five minutes and you still have breakfast and chores. That goes for you too Pip-squirt.”
“I hope you washed your hands before you touched our food,” Em said with a frown.
“Boot grease makes a great source of fatty acids.” Drake retorted. “Now go!”
The two smaller boys muttered in annoyance but stumbled off to follow orders.
“So what is up?” the youth asked as he bent his head back over the smooth leather of his boots.
“Mrs. Finney wants that tree down that’s blocking her perfect view of Crescent Lake.” Ama replied in a dry tone.
“One that’s clearly on park property?” Drake asked.
“Indeedy-do.” Ama replied giving the paper in front of her a glare.
“So how’s she justifying it?” Drake asked.
“As a safety hazard to her house.” Ama replied.
“And?”
The biologist groaned and rubbed her face.
“As far as I can tell the trunk is perfectly healthy. There is an old trash can lid grown into the trunk and a little discolored sap is leaking out there.”
“Frass?”
“Watch your language!” Donny interjected as he darted up to the table.
“Frass is not a bad word,” Drake stated. “Have you let the chickens out?”
“Yes, what does frass mean?” Donny asked as he started piling stir-fry onto his plate.
“Look it up.” Drake ordered him. “Emerald! Breakfast ends in ten minutes! Get your tukus down here!”
“It’s bad health to rush meals,” Em snapped out as he came down a narrow stairway with deliberate slowness.
“It’s even worse for your health to skip meals altogether,” Drake growled threateningly.
“Shut it and give me some eggs.” Em snapped back.
“Emerald Waters Undersun,” Drake hissed out through gritted teeth. “You are going to get your own eggs.”
The boy threw himself into a chair and glared at Drake with challenge in every line of his body.
“Emerald,” Ama said in a calm tone. “I think you should apologize to your cousin now.”
“Sorry I disturbed you Ama,” he offered without breaking eye contact with Drake.
“Not me, him,” Ama said.
“Sorry you had to hear that Donny.” Em said.
Ama heaved a sigh and closed her computer.
“Emerald,” Ama said.
“Do you want to eat or go hungry?” Drake demanded.
Ama glanced at him with a familiar uneasy look in her eyes and Drake fought down a wince.
“Now, Em.” she said in a patient tone.
“I’ll go hungry,” Em snapped, jumping up and stalking over to the couch.
Donny kept his eyes fixed on his plate. Ama heaved a sigh before turning back to her computer. Em wriggled on the couch for several minutes before skulking back to the table. Drake moved to intercept him but Ama stopped him with a look and he let Em serve himself. Drake cast irritated glances at the wall clock as the time crept more and more into school time.
Ama closed her computer and stood, then sighed, sat and opened it again.
“I need to pick out their report topics,” Ama muttered.
“I could do it,” Drake offered.
“You do quite enough,” Ama replied briskly, as she scanned the news. “Here you go. For Donny, malfunctions at the Lewis- McChord Air Force Base air show.” A frown creased her face. “Wow, this is pretty serious. It looks like the F-16 demonstration team nearly got killed.”
Drake whistled and leaned over her shoulder.
“Multiple system failures,” he read out loud. “I am pretty sure that isn’t supposed to happen.”
“Nope,” Ama agreed. “Here is a topic on big game management for Em.”
“Reports due by next week?” Drake asked as the old printer on the desk began to squeal and grumble as it powered up.
“Same as usual,” Ama confirmed.
Drake put the printouts on top of the homework pile and moved to wash up the breakfast dishes.
“I need to get to work early today so you two be good for Drake,” she called out placing a quick kiss on top of the smaller boys’ heads and giving Drake’s shoulder a friendly squeeze.
“Good luck with Mrs. Finney, and stay safe.” Drake called out as she went into her room.
The table was cleaned off and wiped down and the clink of forks gave way to the steady scratch of pencils on paper. They broke for a recess after religion and then lunch after history and math, and by the time the Grandfather clock in the corner struck two the younger boys twitching with energy. Drake made certain the internet was disconnected at the router, and chased Donny and Em out into the garden.
“And don’t come in until dark,” he ordered tossing two snack bags out after them.
Donny as usual snatched his food and disappeared into the small orachard. Low grumbles about troglodytes and the Amish wandered out into the high corn following Em and Drake shook his head in exasperation wondering, not for the first time how the dark haired princeling came from the same gene pool as his little brother. The kitchen being mostly ordered Drake was turning to put the last random dirty sock in the hamper when a gnarled hand clutching a cane head appeared in the corner of his eye, causing his heart to make a valiant attempt to bolt out of his throat.
“Abuelita!” he gasped forcing his hands down from the guard position. “Where did you come from?”
Smoldering black eyes ran searchingly over the tall youth. An impossibly long mane of streaked silver and black hair was barely contained in a thick braid. A sharply pointed nose perched over a small wrinkled mouth. A vibrant red horse-hair serape hung over her shoulders concealing everything except her brown and gnarled hands which currently clutched the old tree branch she used as a cane. Drake had been more than a little comforted by the fact that both Em and Donny had admitted to having the thought ‘witch’ every time time they saw her as well.
“From the hand of God by the bodies of my sainted mother and father,” she replied after a long, uncomfortable silence.
She always spoke in a low husky voice that suggested years of smoking, though Drake had never smelled even stale smoke on her.
“Right,” Drake blinked and grinned at the response; the one she always gave. “So you are here for their Spanish lesson? I have their grammar books ready and-”
The narrow end of the tree branch rapped against the concrete of the floor causing Drake to jump. Abuelita glared at him, locking his gaze and holding him in place with it for a moment.
“I am here for their lessons,” she finally stated, “and you are there for my payment.”
Drake thought longingly of the repair and maintenance manuals in the cab of the truck and the new tool he was itching to try, but he forced a grin on his face.
“Yes ma’am,” he said. “What can I get you today?”
Abuelita pulled out a bag of woven grass from under her serape causing the indistinct patterns on the cloth to shift and change.
“Take this,” she ordered him, “and collect me the cobalt blue berries that grow on a single stalk close to the ground. They must come from the mountain to the south east of here by the crystal brook.”
Drake nodded, and took the little bag, he didn’t quite manage to infused his gestures with enthusiasm he supposed. The old woman, probably wouldn’t have noted it anyway. She turned and moved towards the garden door without waiting for any other reply. However she called out over her shoulder as he turned to find his own way out of the rambling structure.
“Don’t dawdle little one. A storm brews in the distance.”
He tried not to roll his eyes at that, the weather forecast was clear and eighties for the next week according to the morning fire report Ama had printed. The youth only nodded and slipped around the corner. He circled the barn and pulled a set of loose tan pants and tunic out of the cubby. The soft worn leather almost perfectly matched the forest floor for color as did the moccasins he pulled on after them. His morning running clothes were modern stuff that wicked the sweat away from him and let him speed through the forest. These were his free day clothes. The ones that let him disappear into the forest and wander. Abuelita, for all of her demands, would tend Em and Donny until he returned no matter how late that was, and with the Park’s yearly budget talks still under way it was highly unlikely Ama would be home until long after the sun had set. Despite still hearing the call of the half restored truck he felt something lossening in him already. The soft cotton and smooth leather rested easily against his skin and Drake slipped into the forest.
Freedom; for the moment at least, blissful freedom. Pushing aside the guilt that accompanied the thought as well as any lingering worries about his charges the youth let his legs carry him through the trees. He shunned the man made paths, following the faint animal trails. This close to the barn they were as clear to him as if they were named city streets. Being animal trails, they invariably led him to water. Today he stopped at a trickling stream, took off his moccasins, and rolled up his pants legs. The youth turned and followed the thin flow of icy water upstream, letting it steal the heat from his body through his feet.
Some distance upstream, the stream widened and pooled under a boulder. There Drake paused and pulled an old black compass out of his pocket. Behind him he knew every trail and tree. Ahead was a broad swath of National Wilderness he would have to cross, or possibly Bureau of Land Management or even state managed forests where he more rarely wandered. It was hard to tell where the boundaries were from the ground. The clearing he wanted for the berries was solidly in BLM land and he still had quite a ways to go to get there. The stand of timber that stood between him and his goal was dense with young tree and branches that frequently formed impenetrable hedges he had to track around and he checked his compass regularly as he climbed in elevation. Even so the youth found he had wandered too far off his route and had to correct when he spotted the boundary fence. However he was in no hurry and he reached the clearing long before the sun told him it was time to turn around.
Sometime in the past some unknown force had carved a shallow trench across the side of one of the small mountains that that dotted the wilderness. It had puzzled Drake at first. The scour was at the wrong angle to be an old rock slide, and terminated in a near perfectly circular clearing at the lower end. Centuries old Douglas Firs abruptly gave way to a second ring only a few decades old. Those were in turn beginning to produce cones and a smattering of knee high saplings. The rest of the space was completely given over to wildflowers. No matter what season Drake visited it he found a riot of life.
There had been an early spring and many herbs that normally would have waited a month or more were already in full bloom in the mountain meadow. A white wave of foamflower washed in from the deep forest surrounding the clearing, sending up knee high stalks covered in the delicate white blooms. Late trillium hid close to the roots of the great firs, many having shed their white corollas and begun to put forth their bulbous seed heads. Fuzzy white baneberry blossoms nodded gently in the breeze. A riot of yellow and purple spread across the ground as vetch and buttercups and a host of clovers competed for space in the open sun. Great stalks of lupine as high as his head thrust up their purple and blue proudly from thick clusters of palm shaped leaves. Pink shooting stars and violet harebells crouched under the protection of the larger plants. Indian paintbrush lit the scene with flames of red and orange. Where a spring seeped into the meadow elephant’s head flared neon pink and corydalis bushes put forth blushing blooms. Pale green wild orchids stood along the wet spot and the swarms of bees danced from them to the glacier lilies.
Sometimes, as he bent over a tiny blossom and traced the intricate network of veins in the petals, drank in the scent, and felt the smooth surface of the leaves an otherworldly feeling would come over him. It was as if there was another world just out of range of his senses. If he could only really look, the thin illusion that was blocking him would slip away and reveal the real world underneath it.
“Look Awiegwa,” his father would whisper, pointing at a deer mouse perched on a fallen log. “What does it see?”
Awiegwa would screw up his face and squint. Trying to find the answer to the question.
Awiegwa had often wondered how so many flowers had come to be in the relatively small area. He had identified dozens of species and there were more he had yet to determine. The clearing was always the first place to bloom and the last to go dormant. Many of the flowers seemed to utterly defy their usual blooming patterns. However, as time passed he had simply come to accept it. It was one of the small good things that brought back the memories of his father. If it didn’t quite follow the rules Ama had taught him, well an impossible clearing in the mountains wasn’t a place for rules.
The particular bloom that Abuelita had requested had taken full advantage of the early sun and had already put forth a few cobalt blue berries; easily spotted at the edge of the clearing in the delicate sea of white flowers.
However before he left the shade of the forest for the meadow the youth paused and closed his eyes. Bole wasn’t always here, but he was often enough that Awiegwa always checked for him. Carefully he reconstructed the clearing in his mind; marking every tree and boulder on the edge. Three years he had been coming here and each time it was easier to recreate the clearing. Breathing evenly he opened his eyes, letting the mental image merge with the actual. There was a brief moment of confusion as details like the play of light through branches and the trembling of small clusters of flowers fixed themselves but there was only one truly jarring note. Awiegwa didn’t let his eyes focus on the disparity; he never did anymore, but a warm smile spread across his features as he slipped silently into the meadow.
He was here. As the youth moved in a low crouch, gathering the first fruits of the Queen’s Cup, he let his peripheral vision linger on a particular snag. There was nothing obviously interesting about it, other than the fact that it had not been there the last time Awiegwa was here. He had named the wanderer Bole, because it most often appeared as a thick tree trunk; sometimes living, sometimes dead. Occasionally it would be a boulder or simply a mound in the dirt. Often it wasn’t in the clearing at all. If the youth moved forward and tried to closely examine it he could never find anything to suggest it was something other than a tree or rock.
He had thought about taking a sample occasionally, had taken his knife out to do just that more than once, but something always held him back. Bole was a part of this place. Dissecting him would be too much like attempting to dissect his sense of his father’s presence here. The youth had never told anyone about this place, not even Ama with who could get most things out of him easily enough. Down at the house, in town, when he was Drake; solid, reliable, first up in the morning, two grades ahead in school with a penchant for science Drake, a productive member of modern society with a promising future and his mother smiling at him. Here he could be Awiegwa. Here he could believe in the ancient medicines his father had dug out of dusty old tomes and brought to life from the forest litter. Every time Awiegwa left the clearing and headed back towards home reality would reassert itself. Bole would resolve back into a figment of his imagination, created from pride in a somewhat better than average memory and what the social workers had called an “intriguing imagination”. When he reached the house and become solidly Drake again flickers of embarrassment would begin eating at him for letting his senses trick him like that, but as long as the blooms nodded around him in this garden Bole could exist even on a Thursday.
The little woven grass bag filled up with the berries fairly quickly and Awiegwa soon stretched out of his crouch and let his gaze wander contentedly over the clearing. As it always did, the warm space was working its special magic. Worries about Em getting out of his schoolwork, of not paying enough attention to the quiet Donny, of letting Ama see his petty resentments: it had all melted away from his muscles, thoughts of college costs and abandoning his duties dissolved into an acute sense of the now. The leaves rustled softly in a barely-there breeze, the heavy scent of some unidentified blossom filled his lungs, a dozen shades of green framed the rainbow of flowers, and over and above it all the creaking of the firs as the wind played over them. It was at times like these that he felth he could almost see into heaven; that something wonderful that existed just beyond his senses, and all he had to do was reach out and claim it.
The youth took a deep breath and let himself fall backwards onto a handy rise in the forest floor. His path had taken him to the foot of the snag and he shifted slightly to align himself with the gnarled roots. One hand gripped a time smoothed root.
“Ama trusted me enough to go out of state,” he murmured. “That’s the first time she’s done that. Usually she has Abulita stay with us to fend off the Harsh, but she said it’s long past legal now.”
It was his imagination of course that made him think the root vibrated in his hand in response. Many a long hour he had spent in this clearing with the wanderer. He had poured out his frustrations and anguishes over life’s injustices, had shared his secrets as he grew, and had shouted his triumphs. Sometimes he felt closer to Bole than to any of his human friends. However, something that sounded like his mother’s voice warned him that there was something odd about this and that awareness was the main reason he had kept this place secret from Ama. Their mother hadn’t exactly liked stuff like that. She had never objected to his father’s digging up the old stories of her people. Making cross generational connections between elders, who more often than not lived isolated lives, and the next generation, was an admirable goal in of itself in her eyes; objectively a social good. Storytelling was only the natural course for these relationships to take, but subtle looks had warned even a very young Drake that it was best to cautious what he shared with his mother. At least of those things that couldn’t be placed on a microscope slide. So this was Awigewa’s place, and while his father’s spirit wanders the flowers with he had never felt his mother here.
He let his focus drift up, and up. Dark blue Lupine nodded over his head framing the faint crisscross of jet contrails that threw a light haze over an otherwise cloudless sky. His clothed grew deliciously hot from the spring sun. The ground too had eagerly accepted the energy and now it conducted the heat into the muscles of his back. Bole’s wood beneath him was warmer even than the surrounding ground and an idle thought traced across Awiegwa’s awareness; something about it being odd for the light colored wood and relatively dry wood to retain more heat than the darker soil surrounding it. His mind was filled with the impression of a goal. He had been meaning to do, something. Something fun, yes, exploring, he’d meant to see if whatever had dug that den by the second boulder was cubing this year. He would just get up and do that in a minute. His back was so warm and comfortable.
​
https://i.redd.it/o9pile07cb3b1.gif
“Flying Sparks”
Another foray into the lives of Drake McCarty, Ama Love, and the rest of their siblings as they discover that something alien is out in the forest around their home.
https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/flying-sparks-a-novel-of-dragon-bear-and-boy/coming_soon
#FlyingSparks #ScienceFiction #Scifi #Story #novel #book #DrakeMcCarty #AmaLove #Donny #Em #Bard #Bole #Aliens #Spaceships #Crystals #fireflies #NPS #NationalPark #Doctor #Sever #family #storm #writing #reading #drama #literature #author #BettyAdams #DyingEmbers #Dragons #ThingsThatGoBoomp #Indiegogo #CrowdFunding
submitted by Betty-Adams to Crowdfunding [link] [comments]

2023.06.01 03:56 yrulookingatmyuser Is it safe to assume anything?

So I’ve come across a dilema while setting up how I choose to believe things. I used to believe that when a coincidence that seemed to have a low probability occurred, that that was evidence for the supernatural. Now I’ve realized that I was making too much of a leap and that low probability ≠ supernatural evidence. I realized I was assuming but then I realized I assume things all the time. How do I know when and when not to assume. For example let’s say 10 years ago a group of elephants cross a desert, and then die. How do I know without assuming that another group of elephants is capable of doing the same thing?
I hope this makes sense.
submitted by yrulookingatmyuser to epistemology [link] [comments]

2023.06.01 03:56 nerdmost Story Time: WCW Thunder Dec 1999

So reading some posts here made me think you guys might enjoy this. (TLDR: I snuck backstage at WCW Thunder in college)
I was in college in 1999 and a huge fan of WCW. The other guys were cool but I was a WCW guy. So Thunder was scheduled in Memphis at the Mid-South Coliseum and me and a couple friends are gonna go.
Well in the week leading up to the show I decide I’m going to meet some of the guys. Not sure how but I’m doing it.
I wore a blue Oxford shirt with a tie and had a pen and a tire gauge in my shirt pocket. Sounds dumb but it makes you look like you are working.
I made up some business cards from the college radio station and a newspaper that my friends and I wrote. Created a fake “tour” itinerary and had some bullshit papers on a clipboard. This I learned from the movie The Paper: “A clipboard and a confident wave will get you into any building in the world!” This is very very true.
I had my friend circle the building and drop me off around back. We were pretty early. There were two huge 18-wheelers backed up to the loading area and I walked between them.
When I came out, nobody was really watching and I just walked steady like I was headed somewhere and tried my best to be chill.
I walked by the dressing room and there was a huge dry erase board with all the matches for the show listed. Each match also had a time beside it so the guys knew how long they had and they would each check the board as they came out.
I knew that was where I wanted to be but there was a security guy in a folding chair right by the dressing room. So I kept walking and a couple hundred feet later I found a room with a bunch of phones and fax machines. This was when cell phones weren’t super common so I guess they needed a lot of landlines.
So at that point I walked to the security guy I had seen and in a very annoyed tone say to him:
“Where the hell are the fax machines?! I swear to God every time we come to this place they put them somewhere new!!”
“Um, sir, I’m not sure but maybe-“
I just held up my hand. “Nevermind, I will find them. I always do. But this is ridiculous” and I storm off back the way I came.
Went back to the fax room and cooled my heels for a minute. Tried to call a friend on the phones but I guess you needed a code for it to work.
But now that the security guy knew I was legit I could hang by the board, right?
I walk back down the hall and I spy Norman Smiley who was low key one of my favorite guys at that point. But I just made eye contact and nodded and he did the same. “Just act like you belong” I kept telling myself.
Then I see a guy in a headset…with a bunch of lanyards making a beeline right for me. Busted! It was fun while it lasted. He steps right up to me and says:
“Jimmy Hart left his phone in some lady’s car so it’s waiting for him at will-call, but I gotta go. Will you find him and tell him?”
“Absolutely! I will take care of it.” …and now I had a mission!
So I start wandering around asking after Jimmy Hart. Got to talk to DDP (really tall) and Chris Jericho. Billy Kidman and Rey Mysterio (without his mask which was crazy to me at the time) were very cool. I asked my fav security guard and he told me to check in the dressing room. I strolled in and asked if they had seen Jimmy Hart and nobody had. But one of the guys told me to knock on “The War Room”.
At the front of the dressing room was a closed door with a sign on it that had “War Room” written in sharpie. I knocked on the door and a voice said “Yeah?”
I open the door and there are four guys in there. Some guy I didn’t recognize, Kevin Nash, Scott Hall and ARN ANDERSON! I swear to you my knees got weak when I saw the Enforcer!
Somehow I spit out my bit about Jimmy Hart and a phone and they said no and I shut the door. I went back to the board and just chilled. I had to catch my breath. I started scribbling the names of all the wrestlers I saw and just laughed along as they all hung out by the board and shot the shit.
Eventually though I hear someone say “Hey, have you got a pass?” I look over and who do I see? Jimmy Hart!! I gave him a weak line about not being given one and he says “Nah, come on buddy.”
So he walks me over to Dillenger (head of security) but was super friendly and nice. I ask him if he got his phone, he did. I gave him one of my cards and then they escort me out. And I went to the gate with my ticket and then met up with my friends and enjoyed a great show!
They actually taped two episodes of Thunder that night, so I still got to watch a ton of wrestling and it was an awesome night that I will never forget!!
Jimmy Hart was cool as hell even when he kicked me out. And he was wearing a cool musical themed jacket and tie. Perfectly on point.
This could never happen now with all the security now but every bit of this is true! WCW always be my favorite.
submitted by nerdmost to Wrasslin [link] [comments]

2023.06.01 03:56 Kawauso-Kenzen /uj Don't worry, Aster isn't going anywhere, just figured I'd make another character for less serious content so I could give Aster a more focused story.

/uj Don't worry, Aster isn't going anywhere, just figured I'd make another character for less serious content so I could give Aster a more focused story. submitted by Kawauso-Kenzen to PokeMedia [link] [comments]

2023.06.01 03:56 FuriouSherman The relationship I have with this game is deeply unhealthy.

Ever since it was found out that Blizzard had lied to us all about PvE and proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that they're a bunch of greedy pieces of subhuman scum, I thought I was on my way out from this game. I haven't played it since then, I swore I wasn't going to pay them money for anything again, and I thought that the love I'd felt for it since 2016 had gone for good. All that was left was anger and frustration for the people that ruined something I had enjoyed so much for so long.
And yet, it still feels like I haven't been able to unhook myself entirely. When the new short story came out to promote the Pride Month event, my heart still started racing and my breathing became shallow out of sheer joy, just like it has literally every other time that something new has been added to the lore. That would be one thing, but compounding this whole situation is that the highlight intro that comes as a part of the Synthwave Tracer bundle in the store right now is fucking dope - especially if you know just where the got the idea for it - and I've been sorely, sorely tempted to buy it, even if doing so would simply enable Blizzard's greed.
Overall, it feels like even though I'm still pissed at Blizzard and I want to make my displeasure known in hopes of inciting change, all the same I'm getting sucked back in by the stuff that made me fall in love with the game and that I've always enjoyed about it, and I don't know if I'll ever be able to shake it. It just feels - as I said in the title - unhealthy, almost in a way that I don't want to make comparisons to for fear of sounding insensitive.
That's about the long and the short of it. There's no real point here I'm trying to make beyond simply saying what I'm feeling.
submitted by FuriouSherman to Overwatch [link] [comments]