Podcast appearances and mentions of brittany johnson

Michigan Weather and Women: Part 3 How did we ever get here? Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Connected. "When I was fourteen, Mr. Johnson introduced me to a friend of his, Henry White, who was a master plumber. Henry was a high-functioning alcoholic whose temper had driven away all his old apprentices and journeymen. Luckily, I was always big for my age, and Mr. Johnson assured Henry that I was seventeen, turning eighteen in the next few months, so he took me on with the promise to make me an apprentice as soon as I was old enough. By the time that Henry learned my actual age, he had come to rely on me so much that he kept me on." "But what about school? Don't you need a high school diploma to become an apprentice?" "One good thing about growing up in a small town is that most people know the score. I made it to school when I could, and Henry and I worked a lot on the weekends, while Alison watched the rest of my siblings. Most of my teachers let me through with C's and D's, even though I must have missed half of my classes. Everyone knew that I was working with Henry and that I would need my high school diploma to become an apprentice, so they just kind of let me slip through. "I had well over 6,000 hours of experience plumbing before I even turned 18 and could formally become an apprentice. By that point, Henry was a significantly less functional alcoholic, and I was doing everything for his business; all the plumbing and all of the invoicing. He just signed off on the work. If anyone had ever looked into it, he could have gotten into real trouble, but we did smaller jobs for folks who didn't have a lot of money, so no one ever noticed or cared. "Just about the last thing that Henry did before he passed was to swear out my application to become a master plumber. Then one day I showed up for work, and he had died in his sleep. He didn't own much of anything, other than his tools, and he didn't have any family that I knew of, so I just kept on working." After a few minutes spent lying together in silence, I thought that Erin might have drifted off, but she had one more question for me before she did. "When did your mom leave?" I had never told anyone that part of my story; even my brother and sisters thought that Mom had just left one day, leaving me in charge. The reality was so much worse. "By the time Lane started school, Mom had already left us. Not physically, but in all the other ways that matter. She didn't work, and she regularly brought her 'boyfriends' back to our house to trade sex for drugs. Any support she got from social services went straight into her arm or up her nose. I was working long hours by then, to pay the rent and put food on the table, so sometimes that meant that Mary or my brother would be at home with Mom when I wasn't there. I knew it was playing with fire, but there was nothing I could do about it other than pray. "Normally, when I got home, I would blow my horn as I pulled into our drive and Lane would come running out to hug me and tell me about his day. So, I knew something was wrong when I came home late one evening, turned off my truck, and he still hadn't come out. I went inside, and Mom was sitting stoned in the living room watching TV. I asked where Lane was, and she just waved toward the back of the house. Alison and Sharon were out, so Mary and Lane were home with her by themselves. I found him in the room that we shared, cowering in the corner, with little Mary guarding the door. She was only eight at the time. "After a few minutes, I got Lane to tell me what was wrong, and he showed me his arm. Earlier, he had been in the kitchen and had bumped into Mom while she was cooking something on the stove. In a burst of rage, or maybe just evil, she grabbed his arm and held it against the burner. You can still see the scar on his arm today. "That was the end of it. I asked Mary to stay with Lane in our room, I packed Mom's things into the one suitcase we owned, and I drove her to the bus station. I bought her a ticket to Grand Rapids, gave her all the cash in my wallet, and waited with her until she boarded. I told her I would call the police if she ever came back. "Before she left, she spat on me and told me she wished I had never been born." I marveled at how flat my voice sounded, but to my surprise, my cheeks felt wet. I thought I had lost the ability to cry long ago. "Can you imagine that, abandoning your own mother? I'll probably burn in hell, but it was the only way I could think of to keep my brother and sisters safe. I haven't seen her since, although she used to call a couple of times a year asking for money. I didn't feel too bad about hanging up on her when she did, though, since she was still collecting family benefits for us all. Lane barely remembers her, which is likely a blessing, so I made up the story about Mom going away for the weekend and never coming back. "Since then, I have done what was needed for us to survive. When Alison finished school, she wanted to stay home to help look after the others, but I convinced her to go to college. I said that Mom had put aside some money for her tuition, but of course, that was a lie. I have been making the payments for her, but I wanted her to have the chance to just be young, for once. To get away from all of this, at least for a while." "But what about you, Davis?" "I don't matter." "Well, you matter to me." While I was speaking, Erin had wrapped both arms around me and was now holding me tight against her body. When I finished, my body was wracked by waves of uncontrollable grief, but she held me through it all. Eventually, as I started to calm down, she gave me gentle kisses on the nape of my neck and whispered to me in a soft voice. I don't remember what she said, but I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. The power came back on early the next morning, and Erin and I were the first people to wake up. She lay beside me with a small smile on her face. "You've had some hard times, Davis Crawford, but you have come out the other side. You're pretty amazing." I felt a sudden burst of both elation and fear as I returned her smile. "Thanks for listening and not judging me. I've never told anyone some of the things I shared with you." "It was my pleasure. Now let's get up and make some coffee." Looking out the window, the snowdrifts were over two feet high in places, but I knew they weren't going to get any lighter as the sun came out and they started to melt. "I am going to get started on the shoveling if you want to start on breakfast." Erin gave me a bemused look. "Or maybe, I am fully capable of shoveling snow, and we can get it done twice as fast by working together." A few minutes after we started, Lane came out to help. At one point, when Erin was on the other side of the yard, he started to speak. "I heard some of what you said to Erin last night. I never knew what Mom did to you, what you did to protect us. Thank you." "Ah, Bud. I never wanted you to worry. Mom wasn't well for a long time, and she made some terrible choices. But she's gone now, and you will always be safe with me." By the time we finished, we had worked ourselves into a lather, so I suggested to Wilma that she get a snow plowing service for the winter. She gave me a look that implied that somewhere there was a village searching for its idiot; and that idiot was me. "Oh, I have a service, but they take so long to come that they are useless if they bother to show up at all." Erin jumped into the conversation, looking pissed off. "It's part of my family and the McDougal's ongoing campaign to get Gran to move. I have told them how dangerous the game they are playing is, but they just don't seem to care." I thought for a minute, before walking a little ways away and making a call. When I returned, I had some good news for Wilma. "Go ahead and cancel your current service. If they aren't going to do the work, they shouldn't have a problem with not getting paid. I called an old friend of mine from school who runs a snow removal company out of Harbor Springs, who owes me a favor or nine. From now on, you will be at the top of his list." Erin and I texted just about every day between Thanksgiving and Christmas, and we talked most nights when she wasn't working. We were both insanely busy; Erin was providing pediatric coverage for two hospitals that were three hours apart, and I was working as much overtime as possible, to save up for Christmas. Some weeks, the only time we had to meet in person was Sunday afternoons at Wilma's. Mary, in turn, was flourishing under Wilma's guidance. It seemed like she was channeling her emotions into her art, and I began to see the kind and thoughtful sister reemerge that I thought I had lost forever. She wouldn't show me the painting she was working on, but Wilma said she was making good progress, and that was all I needed to know. As it got towards mid-December, our thoughts turned to Christmas. Since Wilma's family was still boycotting the holidays, we decided to have a joint celebration like at Thanksgiving. Erin was going to be working at the hospital in Petoskey on Christmas Day, but we promised to keep Wilma company and to bring her a Christmas meal that she could eat on her break. In typical fashion, she tried to convince us that she would be fine with cafeteria food, but we would hear nothing of it. When we got to Wilma's house for lunch on Christmas Day, she had stockings laid out by the fireplace with a present for each of us. Santa must have had a very healthy budget, because he brought Lane a new fishing rod, Mary a set of expensive paints and charcoals, Sharon a contribution to her college fund, and Alison a specialized nurse's bag with a personalized stethoscope. Rather than a present, my stocking came with a small envelope that contained a pair of tickets to the traveling production of "Moulin Rouge" that was playing in Grand Rapids in March. Although I was happy to get a present of any kind, Wilma must have seen my look of confusion at the choice. "I was talking to Santa, and he mentioned that Erin loves musicals. Phillip used to take her to them when she was younger. He would put on his best suit, and she would get all dolled up in a dress with some of my jewelry, and they would go out for a fancy dinner before the show and have a grand old time." I looked at her in amusement, before replying. "Well, it seems that Santa is about as subtle as a sledgehammer. But I will have to say thanks, next time I bump into him." Our present to Wilma came in three parts. First, we included her in our Christmas cookie exchange, and Mary even gave her a double portion of the chocolate chip cookies she had baked. Second, the five of us committed to helping her catch up on the yard work and house repairs that had fallen by the wayside since Phillip passed. And finally, we pledged to do everything in our power to make sure that she could stay in her house for as long as she was able. Wilma hugged and thanked each of us with tears in her eyes, then looked over at Mary. "Why don't you get your present for your brother." Mary went to the studio at the back of the house and brought back what looked like a small painting, wrapped in Christmas paper. "I wanted to make you something to say 'thank you' for everything you have done for us. And for not giving up on me." When I unwrapped the painting, I was stunned. It was very different from Phillip or Wilma's more realistic works and had vibrant streaks of paint that burst across the canvas, meeting, seemingly at random, in explosions of color. The entire piece was chaotic, except for a single corner that was shielded from the turmoil by a solid arc of paint that was the exact color of my eyes. After lunch, Mary and Sharon kept Wilma company while Alison, Lane, and I went to see Erin at the hospital. Things were pretty quiet, so she had time to sit and eat her dinner with us. While she ate, I showed her pictures from earlier in the day. She laughed at one, in particular, of Wilma with her arm around Mary while they were wearing festive paper hats from their Christmas crackers. "Thank you for taking such good care of Wilma, Davis. She would never admit it, but the holidays would have been very lonely for her this year without you. It means the world to me that you could be there for her." We chatted a bit longer before I pulled out my present for Erin. It was a small flat package which she opened slowly. Inside was a framed drawing of Wilma's house, as seen from the docks, as she looked out the picture window in her living room. "This is amazing, who made it?" "I used to draw quite a bit in school. Since Mary has been working with your Gran, I thought I might give it another try, and I particularly liked how this one turned out." "It's beautiful, Davis. Thank you." She started to blush as she glanced over at Lane, before she slid a card over to me, and whispered, "Maybe you should wait to open this until later when you're alone." Inside the card was Erin's two-part gift to me. First, an invitation to visit her in Grand Rapids, and second, a night for the two of us in a suite at a very nice hotel. New Year's Eve was even quieter than usual at our house. Erin was working in Grand Rapids and was on call that evening. I spoke with her earlier in the day, however, and wished her a Happy New Year, and we sent each other kissing emojis at midnight. The rest of us spent the night playing board games. The only real excitement came a few days earlier when Mary asked if she could invite a friend to join us. "And is this friend a boy, by chance?" As far as I knew, Mary had never had a boyfriend, so this was a new development. Mary didn't have to answer, since her blush did the talking for her. "Do we know this boy?" "It's; It's James McDougal. But he's not like his brothers. He's a good guy." I had my reservations about all of the McDougals, but I was willing to give him a chance. I had only met James that one time at his parent's house when I had gone to get Mary, and he seemed polite enough. But since he was a McDougal, he was starting with two strikes and was in danger of going down swinging. To give Mary credit, James passed the first boyfriend test before he even made it into the house. When he drove into the yard, Munchkin was the first to greet him. He wasn't growling or barking like he sometimes did, or showing his teeth, but he was plenty intimidating. James waited patiently for him to approach before carefully scratching behind his ears. After Mary came out to greet James, Munchkin decided he was alright and fell in behind them as they came inside. Just after midnight, as he was getting ready to leave, James took me aside. "I just wanted to say, sir, that I am sorry for what happened with Mary a few months back. I should never have brought her over to my house without your permission, and I should have brought her right back home once I saw that my brothers were home. I promise you, that despite my bad judgment, I would have made sure that nothing happened to her, and I won't ever make that mistake again." I had to admit that James was growing on me. Chapter 5. It wasn't long before Mary introduced James to Wilma. I had to work on a Sunday in early January, so he offered to drive her to Wilma's in my place. I could tell he was nervous, and he was wearing a nice, collared shirt with some clean jeans, under his winter jacket. By the time he brought Mary home, his shirt was soaked in sweat, and he looked a little like a young man returning from war. Later that week, I asked Wilma what she thought of him. "He seems like a nice, polite boy and he sure is besotted with our Mary. While Mary and I worked on her latest painting, he did some chores for me, including chopping and stacking the entire half cord of wood you dropped off last week. But he didn't complain, and he was still smiling at Mary when he was done, so I think he will do." Wilma's relationship with the rest of the McDougals, however, remained tense, and they made it clear to me that continuing to help her would come at a steep cost. I ran into Calum one evening at the grocery store and he made their position crystal clear. "We've got a big job coming up in Indian River that you might be interested in. Starts in a week, and it would keep you busy for the better part of the next year, solid. The job is yours if you want it." "What's this job going to cost me?" "It's yours, no strings attached. But you wouldn't have time to help old lady Anderson anymore. You know, and I know, that it's time for her to move on from that land. It's what her family wants and it's what's best for her. I am sure that doctor down in Petoskey would understand, I figure she must be tired of looking after that grandmother of hers all the time anyway. Think how much more time the two of you would have together if you were working a regular nine-to-five kind of job. "On the other hand, if you don't work with us on this project, my family is going to take it pretty hard. Hard enough that we might reach out to our friends and neighbors to let them know that you are not a team player and that they may not want to do business with you." There it was. They were threatening to ruin me if I didn't do what they wanted. I knew they couldn't cut off all of my business since there were too many people in the lower peninsula who had been screwed over by them in the past. But they could sure make things tough for me. I am really bad at taking orders, however, particularly from dickheads like Calum McDougal. Calum had a cynical smile as he walked away. He didn't value decency or loyalty, so I was sure he thought he had won me over. All he had done was harden my resolve. I felt honor-bound to reach out to my friend who was clearing Wilma's driveway, though, to let him know that he might get some heat from the McDougals. He was surprisingly poetic in his response. "Fuck those arrogant worm-drowners and the horses they rode in on." Valentine's Day was never a big deal for me. Over the years, I hadn't had time to date, and I wouldn't have had any money to do anything special if I did, so the Hallmark holiday passed me by without too much fuss or bother. I had hoped things might be different since I was with Erin, but she was on call at the hospital in Petoskey, and I was pushing hard on a large multi-unit build that was on a tight schedule, so I was working six or even seven days a week until it was done. My work hadn't completely dried up since my run-in with Calum, but it had certainly taken a hit, so I was not in a position to turn down jobs, no matter how inconvenient. My one consolation was I knew I would see Erin in a couple of weeks when I visited her in Grand Rapids for the show. I had some flowers delivered to her at the hospital anyway, to let her know that I was thinking of her. That earned me an emoji-filled text and an enthusiastic video call when she was done with her shift. As the date of the show got closer, I started to get anxious. I had never been to a live performance of anything, except the occasional high school assembly, and I worried that Erin would be disappointed in my lack of manners and refinement. Wilma noticed my growing nervousness and decided that I needed a pep talk. "Listen, Davis. Erin likes you for who you are. She doesn't need or want you to act like some slick yuppie from the big city." "I know, Wilma, but I don't even know what to wear. The nicest outfit I own is still just a collared shirt over a pair of jeans." "Hmm, I can help you with that. I still have some of Phillip's old suits and ties, let's take a look and see what might fit." Half an hour later, Wilma had picked out a heavier dark charcoal-colored suit, a lightweight linen suit suitable for warmer weather, and a dark grey suit with tight pinstripes for me to try on. She had some shirts for me, as well, from when Phillip was younger. "Phillip wore that pinstripe suit the first time that he took me to the movies. I'll never forget that night, he looked just like Cary Grant. If you bring these suits to the tailor in Indian River, he should be able to take in the jacket and hem the pants to fit you perfectly. A good tailor can make these suits look like they were cut just for you." I didn't want to seem ungrateful, but I couldn't help but wonder if I would look funny in a decades-old suit. Wilma dismissed my concerns out of hand. "Let me tell you a little secret. If you buy a cheap suit, it will quickly begin to look tacky and dated. If you invest in a quality suit, it will age gracefully and become a timeless classic." Finally, Wilma selected a half dozen ties for me to try on and spent an hour teaching me how to tie a half-Windsor knot. "Get these suits altered, grab yourself a pair of polished black leather shoes, and you'll have those snooty pricks at the theatre thinking they are underdressed. And try to have fun. Erin loves the theatre, so if the two of you continue to fall in love, you will be going with her at least a couple of times a year, so you might as well enjoy it." I stood there in shock for a moment. "Do you really think Erin is falling in love with me?" "Well, yes, I do. And it's clear as daylight that you're in love with her too. But don't overthink things. Just go to the show and have a great night together. And here, take this with you as well," Wilma said handing me a navy blue pocket square with a distinctive paisley pattern. "Most men don't bother wearing a pocket square anymore, but I think they complete the look perfectly. You should wear this one on your date with Erin." Wilma took a final look at me and then slipped a twenty-dollar bill into my pocket. "That's for you to get a haircut before the show. Your normal 'shaggy mutt lost in a forest' look is adorable but not for your big date." The day of the performance approached with both aching slowness and relentless speed. We hadn't discussed it, but I knew (or at least strongly suspected) that Erin would have some expectations about how we spent our time together after the show. Unfortunately, I had no experience when it came to women other than a single kiss with Brittany Johnson back in my sophomore year of high school. I was terrified that I would disappoint her. To make matters worse, I had the three-and-a-half-hour drive to Grand Rapids to overthink things. By the time I arrived at Erin's apartment complex, I was a bit of a mess. My nerves were somewhat allayed, however, when Erin came running out to greet me with a huge smile on her face. "You made it! How was the drive? Wow, I love the haircut! I hope you're not too tired. I can't wait for tonight. I have been telling the girls all about you, and they are dying to see if the man lives up to the legend!" I guess Erin could see the sudden swell of anxiety on my face, so she took my hand. "Don't worry, the girls will love you, Davis. Why don't you grab your bag and come inside? I thought we could get changed here and then check in to the hotel before dinner and the show." Erin's housemates were really sweet, and the three of us chatted for at least an hour while Erin got ready before I excused myself to do the same. I put on Phillip's charcoal grey suit along with the crisp white shirt that Wilma had recommended. It took me four tries to tie my navy blue tie, but even I could tell that it made the colors in my paisley pocket square pop. Despite my nerves, I was still ready before Erin, so I rejoined her housemates in the living room while I waited. They kept sneaking glances at me when they thought I wasn't looking, so much so that I thought I must have done something wrong. Rather than second-guessing myself, I decided to take the bull by the horns and ask; better to be embarrassed in front of Erin's housemates than in front of her. "It's; it's not that you did anything wrong. It's just that you look; well, amazing; like an old-time movie star or something. Erin is going to swoon when she sees you." "You really think so?" I asked, still not sure of myself. Just then, I heard Erin's voice from behind me. "I'm sorry I took so long; we should head out before we're;" Erin went silent as I turned to look at her. She was wearing a floor-length emerald-green dress, which seemed to flow around her and mold to her curves, gathering delicately at her neck while leaving her back bare. Her sandy-blonde hair was styled in an elegant updo, while a few strands floated loose, framing her face. But, as always, what captured and held my gaze were her amber eyes, which danced and sparkled as she moved. My hands began to tremble, and I didn't trust myself to speak. "Do I look alright, Davis?" I took a deep breath that sent oxygen coursing through my body, as I found my voice. "I had no idea that anyone could look as beautiful as you do right now." Apparently, she liked my response, since her face broke into a wide grin. "You look mighty handsome yourself, Mister," she said while making a small adjustment to the knot of my tie. "Is that one of Grampy's suits? It looks amazing on you, and I love the tie and the; Oh; Oh, Davis. Is that Grampy's pocket square?" I could see tears forming in her eyes. "Wilma thought you might like it; that it might remind you of Phillip and the times he took you to the theatre when you were younger. I don't have to wear it, though, if you don't like it," I said reaching up to take it out of my pocket. Erin stopped my hand with hers, however, and then lightly ran her fingertips over the colorful square. "Gran was right. It reminds me of Grampy and now it will remind me of you. Please, I want you to wear it. For me." I felt a bit self-conscious pulling up to a fancy hotel in my ratty old truck, but it didn't seem to faze Erin in the least, so I decided not to worry about it. The suite she had booked was by far the nicest room of any kind that I had ever been in, but I tried not to seem like a country rube as I looked around. "Do you like it?" Erin asked a bit nervously, as she tried to gauge my reaction. "Honestly, I thought that rooms like this were just for celebrities and movie stars, and folks like that." "Normally that's the case, I guess, but for one night; tonight; it's ours." Dinner was lovely. I kept expecting people to see past my suit and realize that I was an imposter; just a plumber from the peninsula; not the kind of man who should be spending the evening with a woman like Erin. But she seemed to be having a wonderful time, so I began to relax. My anxiety was further abated when she leaned over the table and said in a low voice. "Jesus, the women in this place can't stop checking you out. I'm kind of wishing I had brought my bear spray now to keep them away. I need to excuse myself for a minute, but I wouldn't be surprised to find one of them trying to take my place when I get back." "Erin, I would never;" "I know, Darling. And frankly, they can look all they want because I know who you're going home with tonight." After that, I looked around the room with a new eye and noticed the subtle glances in my direction, and the shy smiles and blushes. I guess Phillip really did have good taste in suits. After dinner, we walked arm-in-arm to the performance hall, which was very impressive, with its soaring ceilings and plush velvet upholstery. Our seats were in a box on the right-hand side of the hall, which gave us a commanding view of the stage. As the lights went down, Erin took my hand in eager anticipation. I don't remember much about the performance that night; I spent more time watching Erin's childlike wonder than what was happening on the stage. Erin was still holding my hand at the intermission, and I felt a warm sense of contentment wash over me. "Oh, I forgot to mention, some of the largest donors to the hospital are hosting a reception after the performance. Would it be alright if we put in an appearance before we head back to our hotel?" I agreed without hesitation; a decision I would second guess before the night was over. It was close to 10:30 by the time the performance ended, and Erin held my arm, while resting her head on my shoulder, as we made our way through the hall to the reception. We each grabbed a drink, and we drifted through the small crowd until Erin was greeted warmly by a distinguished-looking older couple. Erin introduced them to me as the hosts of the reception, Mr. and Mrs. Wendel. "Please, just call us Tom and Martha. And you two make such a lovely couple. What do you do, Davis?" "I am a plumber, Ma'am," I replied, wondering how that news would be received by this obviously well-to-do couple, but I needn't have worried. "What kind of plumbing do you do?" Tom asked with genuine interest. "Mainly residential at this point, since I just got my master's license last year. A lot of the larger builders want to see some gray hairs on the heads of their skilled tradesmen, so right now, I am just doing what I can to pay the bills." "Amen, to that brother. I remember those days well. I started out, over 30 years ago now, as a dry Waller, and I spent more years than I care to remember doing whatever jobs I could get, just to get a foot in the door. It paid off for me in the end, though. Say, I am working on a development on the south side of town and was wondering;" Before Martha could stop him, Tom launched into a long and technical question about a challenge he was having with the plumbing for his new development. When I started an equally long and technical response, Erin kissed me on the cheek and whispered that Martha and she were going to go to the bar to get another drink. A few minutes later, I was still talking with Tom when a movement at the bar caught my eye. I looked more closely and saw that Erin was speaking with a tall, arrogant-looking man who kept trying to put his hand on her lower back, while she forcefully pushed it away. "My apologies, Tom, but could you give me a minute?" Without waiting for a reply, I walked over to where Erin was standing and slipped my arm around her waist, just as the man reached for her for a third time. "Hey, now," I said, trying to defuse the situation with a bit of humor. "At least buy me a drink before you make a move on me like that." His hand recoiled like it had been scalded, and his cheeks colored in anger. I could smell the alcohol on his breath from where I was standing. "Well, if it isn't the plumber," he said in a mocking tone. He must have been eavesdropping on my conversation with Tom, and he clearly wasn't impressed. "What did you think of the show this evening? Actually, that's hardly a fair question since you've probably never been to the theatre before. So, how about something more your level? I wonder what you would think of the bathrooms in my new penthouse. I am sure you would find them very impressive. I will give you a call the next time my toilet gets clogged, and you can come and check them out." He seemed very pleased with his insults, so he continued, a condescending grin on his face. "Anyway, Dr. Anderson, as I was saying, it was charitable of you to let the help see how the rest of us live, and I am sure he is having a good time and all, but it's past time for him to bring his daddy's suit home, don't you think? Why don't you leave him to it, and you and I can go have a drink? And then; who knows? I had dealt with people like this prick for my entire life. When you grow up with one abusive parent and no money, you get used to just about everyone feeling like they are better than you. There was nothing I could do about that, but I learned to use humor as a shield to protect myself and deflect attention. But sometimes humor just wasn't enough. And when humor failed, a more direct approach was called for. "You know, if you're trying to insult me, you're going to have to work a whole lot harder than that. But I doubt that hard work is something that you're too familiar with. I have been working since I was twelve to put food on the table for my brother and sisters. I have been a plumber since I was fourteen; by the time I was fifteen, I am sure I had already spent more time ankle-deep in shit than you've spent doing honest work in your entire life. "I didn't borrow this suit from my father because I don't know who my father is; that's right, I'm a bastard. But I am a bastard by circumstance and not by choice. I was born this way, what's your excuse? And since you asked, the suit I'm wearing belonged to Erin's grandfather, and you're right, I would never be able to afford a suit like this myself. But it's an honor to wear a suit that belonged to a man who loved Erin more than anything in this world. If I am really lucky, maybe she will let me love her just as deeply one day. "I may not know that much about musicals or the theatre, but anything that brings that much joy to Erin is more than fine in my books. So, I am going to continue to have a wonderful time with Erin this evening. Why wouldn't I? I am here with the most beautiful woman in the place, or;" I swept my gaze over to Martha, who was still standing beside Erin, "tied for the most beautiful, anyway." The man's face was now distorted with anger, and he took a step towards me. I stepped forward to meet him, my eyes never leaving his. Before, I had been speaking loudly for the benefit of those around us, but now I was speaking in a controlled voice, pitched for his ears alone. "You can say what you want about me, you prick. I have no respect for arrogant shitheels like you, so I just don't care. But before you ever think about putting your hands on Erin again, without her consent, you would do well to remember the Pipe Wrench Incident. "When I was fourteen, two of the men my mother was having sex with, in exchange for drugs, decided that my sister Alison should join in their fun. She was just nine years old. Luckily, I was home at the time, but I was just a kid, and they were fully grown men. When it was over, they were in the hospital, and I was cleaning my pipe wrench with some WD-40 and a rag." I looked him up and down once, dismissively. "Remember that story the next time you're tempted to touch someone I love." I turned to Tom who had come over to stand with Martha. "I'm sorry I interrupted your lovely event, and please don't hold my bad manners against Erin. I don't want to cause any more trouble, so maybe we should be on our way." Tom held up his hand indicating that we should stay. "Dr. Allen, you're drunk and making an ass of yourself. Please see yourself out. On your way home, please consider what you would like me to say at the next Board meeting regarding your behavior tonight." As a chastened Dr. Allen left the reception, Erin leaned over and whispered in my ear, "So, I'm someone you love, am I?" Before I could stammer a reply, Erin kissed my cheek and led me away to get a drink. We avoided the topic of Dr. Allen for the rest of the evening until we were on our way back to the hotel. "Did you really put two men in the hospital with a pipe wrench?" I chuckled softly before responding. "That part of the story is 100% true. What I didn't mention, though, was that they were both stoned at the time and facing the other direction. They would have killed me in a fair fight." It was close to midnight by the time we made it back to the hotel. We held each other's hands as we walked to the elevators, and Erin leaned against me as the doors closed. "Davis, how would you like this evening to end?" My heart started racing and my hands trembled. "I; I want to be with you. But, I have never;" "Are you still a virgin?" "I kissed a girl once, back in high school, but it was nothing like kissing you. I want you more than anything I have ever wanted in my life, but I don't want to disappoint you." Erin tried to stay calm as she replied. "So, you think that I am some kind of floozy who is going to compare you to all my past conquests?" "No, that's not it at all, I;" "Or do you think that I am so shallow that I will get mad at you if it takes a little while for you to learn what I like?" "No, I don't think that either;" "Okay, then. Here is what's going to happen. When we get to our room, you are going to move some of the furniture out of the way, while I put on some music. You still remember how to dance, right? And then we will take things slowly. I will let you know what makes me feel good, and you will let me know what makes you feel even better. And we will be together, and that's all that matters." And that is what happened. Erin started a playlist of songs that she liked, and we slowly danced together in our room. After the first song ended, she nuzzled into my chest as she loosened my tie and undid the first two buttons of my shirt. When the next song started, she started gently kissing and then licking my chest, causing my manhood to stiffen almost painfully. "Well, hello, my rather large friend. You need to be patient, for now. But if you're good, I may kiss you as well before the night is done." Her sensuous voice, and the image it evoked, were definitely not conducive to patience, and I let out a low moan of pleasure. "That's what I like to hear," she murmured as she untucked my shirt and continued to undo my buttons until she could run her tongue over my nipples and tweak them with her teeth. She looked up at me with sultry, half-lidded eyes. "It's okay for you to touch me as well if you want," she said, as she took one of my hands and slid it under the back of her dress and down to her silky-smooth cheeks. She slid my other hand under the front of her dress so that it cupped her tit, and she sucked in a breath as I stroked my callused thumb over her nipple. "Now some women like it when you;" I kissed her before she could finish her thought. "Erin, I don't care what some women like, the only woman I want is you." "Oh," she replied in a breathy voice. "Well, I like it when you're a bit rougher with my tits. Not right away, I need to be in the mood; like I am now;" She lost her train of thought as my hand enveloped and massaged her tit, squeezing her nipple lightly between my thumb and forefinger as I lifted it away from her body. "Mmmm, yes. Just like that, baby." I felt a wave of heat roll up the fingers on my other hand, so I slid it further down until I felt a small triangle of material, that was slick with liquid heat. I slipped my finger a little further and felt her long smooth cunt open at my touch. "Oh, Baby," Erin whispered huskily into my ear. "We are going to have so much fun tonight." It was strange going back to my regular life after my night with Erin. The time with her was so incredible, and so beyond anything I could ever have imagined, that it didn't seem real. To be continued in part 4. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts, for Literotica.

Michigan Weather and Women: Part 3 How did we ever get here? Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Connected. "When I was fourteen, Mr. Johnson introduced me to a friend of his, Henry White, who was a master plumber. Henry was a high-functioning alcoholic whose temper had driven away all his old apprentices and journeymen. Luckily, I was always big for my age, and Mr. Johnson assured Henry that I was seventeen, turning eighteen in the next few months, so he took me on with the promise to make me an apprentice as soon as I was old enough. By the time that Henry learned my actual age, he had come to rely on me so much that he kept me on." "But what about school? Don't you need a high school diploma to become an apprentice?" "One good thing about growing up in a small town is that most people know the score. I made it to school when I could, and Henry and I worked a lot on the weekends, while Alison watched the rest of my siblings. Most of my teachers let me through with C's and D's, even though I must have missed half of my classes. Everyone knew that I was working with Henry and that I would need my high school diploma to become an apprentice, so they just kind of let me slip through. "I had well over 6,000 hours of experience plumbing before I even turned 18 and could formally become an apprentice. By that point, Henry was a significantly less functional alcoholic, and I was doing everything for his business; all the plumbing and all of the invoicing. He just signed off on the work. If anyone had ever looked into it, he could have gotten into real trouble, but we did smaller jobs for folks who didn't have a lot of money, so no one ever noticed or cared. "Just about the last thing that Henry did before he passed was to swear out my application to become a master plumber. Then one day I showed up for work, and he had died in his sleep. He didn't own much of anything, other than his tools, and he didn't have any family that I knew of, so I just kept on working." After a few minutes spent lying together in silence, I thought that Erin might have drifted off, but she had one more question for me before she did. "When did your mom leave?" I had never told anyone that part of my story; even my brother and sisters thought that Mom had just left one day, leaving me in charge. The reality was so much worse. "By the time Lane started school, Mom had already left us. Not physically, but in all the other ways that matter. She didn't work, and she regularly brought her 'boyfriends' back to our house to trade sex for drugs. Any support she got from social services went straight into her arm or up her nose. I was working long hours by then, to pay the rent and put food on the table, so sometimes that meant that Mary or my brother would be at home with Mom when I wasn't there. I knew it was playing with fire, but there was nothing I could do about it other than pray. "Normally, when I got home, I would blow my horn as I pulled into our drive and Lane would come running out to hug me and tell me about his day. So, I knew something was wrong when I came home late one evening, turned off my truck, and he still hadn't come out. I went inside, and Mom was sitting stoned in the living room watching TV. I asked where Lane was, and she just waved toward the back of the house. Alison and Sharon were out, so Mary and Lane were home with her by themselves. I found him in the room that we shared, cowering in the corner, with little Mary guarding the door. She was only eight at the time. "After a few minutes, I got Lane to tell me what was wrong, and he showed me his arm. Earlier, he had been in the kitchen and had bumped into Mom while she was cooking something on the stove. In a burst of rage, or maybe just evil, she grabbed his arm and held it against the burner. You can still see the scar on his arm today. "That was the end of it. I asked Mary to stay with Lane in our room, I packed Mom's things into the one suitcase we owned, and I drove her to the bus station. I bought her a ticket to Grand Rapids, gave her all the cash in my wallet, and waited with her until she boarded. I told her I would call the police if she ever came back. "Before she left, she spat on me and told me she wished I had never been born." I marveled at how flat my voice sounded, but to my surprise, my cheeks felt wet. I thought I had lost the ability to cry long ago. "Can you imagine that, abandoning your own mother? I'll probably burn in hell, but it was the only way I could think of to keep my brother and sisters safe. I haven't seen her since, although she used to call a couple of times a year asking for money. I didn't feel too bad about hanging up on her when she did, though, since she was still collecting family benefits for us all. Lane barely remembers her, which is likely a blessing, so I made up the story about Mom going away for the weekend and never coming back. "Since then, I have done what was needed for us to survive. When Alison finished school, she wanted to stay home to help look after the others, but I convinced her to go to college. I said that Mom had put aside some money for her tuition, but of course, that was a lie. I have been making the payments for her, but I wanted her to have the chance to just be young, for once. To get away from all of this, at least for a while." "But what about you, Davis?" "I don't matter." "Well, you matter to me." While I was speaking, Erin had wrapped both arms around me and was now holding me tight against her body. When I finished, my body was wracked by waves of uncontrollable grief, but she held me through it all. Eventually, as I started to calm down, she gave me gentle kisses on the nape of my neck and whispered to me in a soft voice. I don't remember what she said, but I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. The power came back on early the next morning, and Erin and I were the first people to wake up. She lay beside me with a small smile on her face. "You've had some hard times, Davis Crawford, but you have come out the other side. You're pretty amazing." I felt a sudden burst of both elation and fear as I returned her smile. "Thanks for listening and not judging me. I've never told anyone some of the things I shared with you." "It was my pleasure. Now let's get up and make some coffee." Looking out the window, the snowdrifts were over two feet high in places, but I knew they weren't going to get any lighter as the sun came out and they started to melt. "I am going to get started on the shoveling if you want to start on breakfast." Erin gave me a bemused look. "Or maybe, I am fully capable of shoveling snow, and we can get it done twice as fast by working together." A few minutes after we started, Lane came out to help. At one point, when Erin was on the other side of the yard, he started to speak. "I heard some of what you said to Erin last night. I never knew what Mom did to you, what you did to protect us. Thank you." "Ah, Bud. I never wanted you to worry. Mom wasn't well for a long time, and she made some terrible choices. But she's gone now, and you will always be safe with me." By the time we finished, we had worked ourselves into a lather, so I suggested to Wilma that she get a snow plowing service for the winter. She gave me a look that implied that somewhere there was a village searching for its idiot; and that idiot was me. "Oh, I have a service, but they take so long to come that they are useless if they bother to show up at all." Erin jumped into the conversation, looking pissed off. "It's part of my family and the McDougal's ongoing campaign to get Gran to move. I have told them how dangerous the game they are playing is, but they just don't seem to care." I thought for a minute, before walking a little ways away and making a call. When I returned, I had some good news for Wilma. "Go ahead and cancel your current service. If they aren't going to do the work, they shouldn't have a problem with not getting paid. I called an old friend of mine from school who runs a snow removal company out of Harbor Springs, who owes me a favor or nine. From now on, you will be at the top of his list." Erin and I texted just about every day between Thanksgiving and Christmas, and we talked most nights when she wasn't working. We were both insanely busy; Erin was providing pediatric coverage for two hospitals that were three hours apart, and I was working as much overtime as possible, to save up for Christmas. Some weeks, the only time we had to meet in person was Sunday afternoons at Wilma's. Mary, in turn, was flourishing under Wilma's guidance. It seemed like she was channeling her emotions into her art, and I began to see the kind and thoughtful sister reemerge that I thought I had lost forever. She wouldn't show me the painting she was working on, but Wilma said she was making good progress, and that was all I needed to know. As it got towards mid-December, our thoughts turned to Christmas. Since Wilma's family was still boycotting the holidays, we decided to have a joint celebration like at Thanksgiving. Erin was going to be working at the hospital in Petoskey on Christmas Day, but we promised to keep Wilma company and to bring her a Christmas meal that she could eat on her break. In typical fashion, she tried to convince us that she would be fine with cafeteria food, but we would hear nothing of it. When we got to Wilma's house for lunch on Christmas Day, she had stockings laid out by the fireplace with a present for each of us. Santa must have had a very healthy budget, because he brought Lane a new fishing rod, Mary a set of expensive paints and charcoals, Sharon a contribution to her college fund, and Alison a specialized nurse's bag with a personalized stethoscope. Rather than a present, my stocking came with a small envelope that contained a pair of tickets to the traveling production of "Moulin Rouge" that was playing in Grand Rapids in March. Although I was happy to get a present of any kind, Wilma must have seen my look of confusion at the choice. "I was talking to Santa, and he mentioned that Erin loves musicals. Phillip used to take her to them when she was younger. He would put on his best suit, and she would get all dolled up in a dress with some of my jewelry, and they would go out for a fancy dinner before the show and have a grand old time." I looked at her in amusement, before replying. "Well, it seems that Santa is about as subtle as a sledgehammer. But I will have to say thanks, next time I bump into him." Our present to Wilma came in three parts. First, we included her in our Christmas cookie exchange, and Mary even gave her a double portion of the chocolate chip cookies she had baked. Second, the five of us committed to helping her catch up on the yard work and house repairs that had fallen by the wayside since Phillip passed. And finally, we pledged to do everything in our power to make sure that she could stay in her house for as long as she was able. Wilma hugged and thanked each of us with tears in her eyes, then looked over at Mary. "Why don't you get your present for your brother." Mary went to the studio at the back of the house and brought back what looked like a small painting, wrapped in Christmas paper. "I wanted to make you something to say 'thank you' for everything you have done for us. And for not giving up on me." When I unwrapped the painting, I was stunned. It was very different from Phillip or Wilma's more realistic works and had vibrant streaks of paint that burst across the canvas, meeting, seemingly at random, in explosions of color. The entire piece was chaotic, except for a single corner that was shielded from the turmoil by a solid arc of paint that was the exact color of my eyes. After lunch, Mary and Sharon kept Wilma company while Alison, Lane, and I went to see Erin at the hospital. Things were pretty quiet, so she had time to sit and eat her dinner with us. While she ate, I showed her pictures from earlier in the day. She laughed at one, in particular, of Wilma with her arm around Mary while they were wearing festive paper hats from their Christmas crackers. "Thank you for taking such good care of Wilma, Davis. She would never admit it, but the holidays would have been very lonely for her this year without you. It means the world to me that you could be there for her." We chatted a bit longer before I pulled out my present for Erin. It was a small flat package which she opened slowly. Inside was a framed drawing of Wilma's house, as seen from the docks, as she looked out the picture window in her living room. "This is amazing, who made it?" "I used to draw quite a bit in school. Since Mary has been working with your Gran, I thought I might give it another try, and I particularly liked how this one turned out." "It's beautiful, Davis. Thank you." She started to blush as she glanced over at Lane, before she slid a card over to me, and whispered, "Maybe you should wait to open this until later when you're alone." Inside the card was Erin's two-part gift to me. First, an invitation to visit her in Grand Rapids, and second, a night for the two of us in a suite at a very nice hotel. New Year's Eve was even quieter than usual at our house. Erin was working in Grand Rapids and was on call that evening. I spoke with her earlier in the day, however, and wished her a Happy New Year, and we sent each other kissing emojis at midnight. The rest of us spent the night playing board games. The only real excitement came a few days earlier when Mary asked if she could invite a friend to join us. "And is this friend a boy, by chance?" As far as I knew, Mary had never had a boyfriend, so this was a new development. Mary didn't have to answer, since her blush did the talking for her. "Do we know this boy?" "It's; It's James McDougal. But he's not like his brothers. He's a good guy." I had my reservations about all of the McDougals, but I was willing to give him a chance. I had only met James that one time at his parent's house when I had gone to get Mary, and he seemed polite enough. But since he was a McDougal, he was starting with two strikes and was in danger of going down swinging. To give Mary credit, James passed the first boyfriend test before he even made it into the house. When he drove into the yard, Munchkin was the first to greet him. He wasn't growling or barking like he sometimes did, or showing his teeth, but he was plenty intimidating. James waited patiently for him to approach before carefully scratching behind his ears. After Mary came out to greet James, Munchkin decided he was alright and fell in behind them as they came inside. Just after midnight, as he was getting ready to leave, James took me aside. "I just wanted to say, sir, that I am sorry for what happened with Mary a few months back. I should never have brought her over to my house without your permission, and I should have brought her right back home once I saw that my brothers were home. I promise you, that despite my bad judgment, I would have made sure that nothing happened to her, and I won't ever make that mistake again." I had to admit that James was growing on me. Chapter 5. It wasn't long before Mary introduced James to Wilma. I had to work on a Sunday in early January, so he offered to drive her to Wilma's in my place. I could tell he was nervous, and he was wearing a nice, collared shirt with some clean jeans, under his winter jacket. By the time he brought Mary home, his shirt was soaked in sweat, and he looked a little like a young man returning from war. Later that week, I asked Wilma what she thought of him. "He seems like a nice, polite boy and he sure is besotted with our Mary. While Mary and I worked on her latest painting, he did some chores for me, including chopping and stacking the entire half cord of wood you dropped off last week. But he didn't complain, and he was still smiling at Mary when he was done, so I think he will do." Wilma's relationship with the rest of the McDougals, however, remained tense, and they made it clear to me that continuing to help her would come at a steep cost. I ran into Calum one evening at the grocery store and he made their position crystal clear. "We've got a big job coming up in Indian River that you might be interested in. Starts in a week, and it would keep you busy for the better part of the next year, solid. The job is yours if you want it." "What's this job going to cost me?" "It's yours, no strings attached. But you wouldn't have time to help old lady Anderson anymore. You know, and I know, that it's time for her to move on from that land. It's what her family wants and it's what's best for her. I am sure that doctor down in Petoskey would understand, I figure she must be tired of looking after that grandmother of hers all the time anyway. Think how much more time the two of you would have together if you were working a regular nine-to-five kind of job. "On the other hand, if you don't work with us on this project, my family is going to take it pretty hard. Hard enough that we might reach out to our friends and neighbors to let them know that you are not a team player and that they may not want to do business with you." There it was. They were threatening to ruin me if I didn't do what they wanted. I knew they couldn't cut off all of my business since there were too many people in the lower peninsula who had been screwed over by them in the past. But they could sure make things tough for me. I am really bad at taking orders, however, particularly from dickheads like Calum McDougal. Calum had a cynical smile as he walked away. He didn't value decency or loyalty, so I was sure he thought he had won me over. All he had done was harden my resolve. I felt honor-bound to reach out to my friend who was clearing Wilma's driveway, though, to let him know that he might get some heat from the McDougals. He was surprisingly poetic in his response. "Fuck those arrogant worm-drowners and the horses they rode in on." Valentine's Day was never a big deal for me. Over the years, I hadn't had time to date, and I wouldn't have had any money to do anything special if I did, so the Hallmark holiday passed me by without too much fuss or bother. I had hoped things might be different since I was with Erin, but she was on call at the hospital in Petoskey, and I was pushing hard on a large multi-unit build that was on a tight schedule, so I was working six or even seven days a week until it was done. My work hadn't completely dried up since my run-in with Calum, but it had certainly taken a hit, so I was not in a position to turn down jobs, no matter how inconvenient. My one consolation was I knew I would see Erin in a couple of weeks when I visited her in Grand Rapids for the show. I had some flowers delivered to her at the hospital anyway, to let her know that I was thinking of her. That earned me an emoji-filled text and an enthusiastic video call when she was done with her shift. As the date of the show got closer, I started to get anxious. I had never been to a live performance of anything, except the occasional high school assembly, and I worried that Erin would be disappointed in my lack of manners and refinement. Wilma noticed my growing nervousness and decided that I needed a pep talk. "Listen, Davis. Erin likes you for who you are. She doesn't need or want you to act like some slick yuppie from the big city." "I know, Wilma, but I don't even know what to wear. The nicest outfit I own is still just a collared shirt over a pair of jeans." "Hmm, I can help you with that. I still have some of Phillip's old suits and ties, let's take a look and see what might fit." Half an hour later, Wilma had picked out a heavier dark charcoal-colored suit, a lightweight linen suit suitable for warmer weather, and a dark grey suit with tight pinstripes for me to try on. She had some shirts for me, as well, from when Phillip was younger. "Phillip wore that pinstripe suit the first time that he took me to the movies. I'll never forget that night, he looked just like Cary Grant. If you bring these suits to the tailor in Indian River, he should be able to take in the jacket and hem the pants to fit you perfectly. A good tailor can make these suits look like they were cut just for you." I didn't want to seem ungrateful, but I couldn't help but wonder if I would look funny in a decades-old suit. Wilma dismissed my concerns out of hand. "Let me tell you a little secret. If you buy a cheap suit, it will quickly begin to look tacky and dated. If you invest in a quality suit, it will age gracefully and become a timeless classic." Finally, Wilma selected a half dozen ties for me to try on and spent an hour teaching me how to tie a half-Windsor knot. "Get these suits altered, grab yourself a pair of polished black leather shoes, and you'll have those snooty pricks at the theatre thinking they are underdressed. And try to have fun. Erin loves the theatre, so if the two of you continue to fall in love, you will be going with her at least a couple of times a year, so you might as well enjoy it." I stood there in shock for a moment. "Do you really think Erin is falling in love with me?" "Well, yes, I do. And it's clear as daylight that you're in love with her too. But don't overthink things. Just go to the show and have a great night together. And here, take this with you as well," Wilma said handing me a navy blue pocket square with a distinctive paisley pattern. "Most men don't bother wearing a pocket square anymore, but I think they complete the look perfectly. You should wear this one on your date with Erin." Wilma took a final look at me and then slipped a twenty-dollar bill into my pocket. "That's for you to get a haircut before the show. Your normal 'shaggy mutt lost in a forest' look is adorable but not for your big date." The day of the performance approached with both aching slowness and relentless speed. We hadn't discussed it, but I knew (or at least strongly suspected) that Erin would have some expectations about how we spent our time together after the show. Unfortunately, I had no experience when it came to women other than a single kiss with Brittany Johnson back in my sophomore year of high school. I was terrified that I would disappoint her. To make matters worse, I had the three-and-a-half-hour drive to Grand Rapids to overthink things. By the time I arrived at Erin's apartment complex, I was a bit of a mess. My nerves were somewhat allayed, however, when Erin came running out to greet me with a huge smile on her face. "You made it! How was the drive? Wow, I love the haircut! I hope you're not too tired. I can't wait for tonight. I have been telling the girls all about you, and they are dying to see if the man lives up to the legend!" I guess Erin could see the sudden swell of anxiety on my face, so she took my hand. "Don't worry, the girls will love you, Davis. Why don't you grab your bag and come inside? I thought we could get changed here and then check in to the hotel before dinner and the show." Erin's housemates were really sweet, and the three of us chatted for at least an hour while Erin got ready before I excused myself to do the same. I put on Phillip's charcoal grey suit along with the crisp white shirt that Wilma had recommended. It took me four tries to tie my navy blue tie, but even I could tell that it made the colors in my paisley pocket square pop. Despite my nerves, I was still ready before Erin, so I rejoined her housemates in the living room while I waited. They kept sneaking glances at me when they thought I wasn't looking, so much so that I thought I must have done something wrong. Rather than second-guessing myself, I decided to take the bull by the horns and ask; better to be embarrassed in front of Erin's housemates than in front of her. "It's; it's not that you did anything wrong. It's just that you look; well, amazing; like an old-time movie star or something. Erin is going to swoon when she sees you." "You really think so?" I asked, still not sure of myself. Just then, I heard Erin's voice from behind me. "I'm sorry I took so long; we should head out before we're;" Erin went silent as I turned to look at her. She was wearing a floor-length emerald-green dress, which seemed to flow around her and mold to her curves, gathering delicately at her neck while leaving her back bare. Her sandy-blonde hair was styled in an elegant updo, while a few strands floated loose, framing her face. But, as always, what captured and held my gaze were her amber eyes, which danced and sparkled as she moved. My hands began to tremble, and I didn't trust myself to speak. "Do I look alright, Davis?" I took a deep breath that sent oxygen coursing through my body, as I found my voice. "I had no idea that anyone could look as beautiful as you do right now." Apparently, she liked my response, since her face broke into a wide grin. "You look mighty handsome yourself, Mister," she said while making a small adjustment to the knot of my tie. "Is that one of Grampy's suits? It looks amazing on you, and I love the tie and the; Oh; Oh, Davis. Is that Grampy's pocket square?" I could see tears forming in her eyes. "Wilma thought you might like it; that it might remind you of Phillip and the times he took you to the theatre when you were younger. I don't have to wear it, though, if you don't like it," I said reaching up to take it out of my pocket. Erin stopped my hand with hers, however, and then lightly ran her fingertips over the colorful square. "Gran was right. It reminds me of Grampy and now it will remind me of you. Please, I want you to wear it. For me." I felt a bit self-conscious pulling up to a fancy hotel in my ratty old truck, but it didn't seem to faze Erin in the least, so I decided not to worry about it. The suite she had booked was by far the nicest room of any kind that I had ever been in, but I tried not to seem like a country rube as I looked around. "Do you like it?" Erin asked a bit nervously, as she tried to gauge my reaction. "Honestly, I thought that rooms like this were just for celebrities and movie stars, and folks like that." "Normally that's the case, I guess, but for one night; tonight; it's ours." Dinner was lovely. I kept expecting people to see past my suit and realize that I was an imposter; just a plumber from the peninsula; not the kind of man who should be spending the evening with a woman like Erin. But she seemed to be having a wonderful time, so I began to relax. My anxiety was further abated when she leaned over the table and said in a low voice. "Jesus, the women in this place can't stop checking you out. I'm kind of wishing I had brought my bear spray now to keep them away. I need to excuse myself for a minute, but I wouldn't be surprised to find one of them trying to take my place when I get back." "Erin, I would never;" "I know, Darling. And frankly, they can look all they want because I know who you're going home with tonight." After that, I looked around the room with a new eye and noticed the subtle glances in my direction, and the shy smiles and blushes. I guess Phillip really did have good taste in suits. After dinner, we walked arm-in-arm to the performance hall, which was very impressive, with its soaring ceilings and plush velvet upholstery. Our seats were in a box on the right-hand side of the hall, which gave us a commanding view of the stage. As the lights went down, Erin took my hand in eager anticipation. I don't remember much about the performance that night; I spent more time watching Erin's childlike wonder than what was happening on the stage. Erin was still holding my hand at the intermission, and I felt a warm sense of contentment wash over me. "Oh, I forgot to mention, some of the largest donors to the hospital are hosting a reception after the performance. Would it be alright if we put in an appearance before we head back to our hotel?" I agreed without hesitation; a decision I would second guess before the night was over. It was close to 10:30 by the time the performance ended, and Erin held my arm, while resting her head on my shoulder, as we made our way through the hall to the reception. We each grabbed a drink, and we drifted through the small crowd until Erin was greeted warmly by a distinguished-looking older couple. Erin introduced them to me as the hosts of the reception, Mr. and Mrs. Wendel. "Please, just call us Tom and Martha. And you two make such a lovely couple. What do you do, Davis?" "I am a plumber, Ma'am," I replied, wondering how that news would be received by this obviously well-to-do couple, but I needn't have worried. "What kind of plumbing do you do?" Tom asked with genuine interest. "Mainly residential at this point, since I just got my master's license last year. A lot of the larger builders want to see some gray hairs on the heads of their skilled tradesmen, so right now, I am just doing what I can to pay the bills." "Amen, to that brother. I remember those days well. I started out, over 30 years ago now, as a dry Waller, and I spent more years than I care to remember doing whatever jobs I could get, just to get a foot in the door. It paid off for me in the end, though. Say, I am working on a development on the south side of town and was wondering;" Before Martha could stop him, Tom launched into a long and technical question about a challenge he was having with the plumbing for his new development. When I started an equally long and technical response, Erin kissed me on the cheek and whispered that Martha and she were going to go to the bar to get another drink. A few minutes later, I was still talking with Tom when a movement at the bar caught my eye. I looked more closely and saw that Erin was speaking with a tall, arrogant-looking man who kept trying to put his hand on her lower back, while she forcefully pushed it away. "My apologies, Tom, but could you give me a minute?" Without waiting for a reply, I walked over to where Erin was standing and slipped my arm around her waist, just as the man reached for her for a third time. "Hey, now," I said, trying to defuse the situation with a bit of humor. "At least buy me a drink before you make a move on me like that." His hand recoiled like it had been scalded, and his cheeks colored in anger. I could smell the alcohol on his breath from where I was standing. "Well, if it isn't the plumber," he said in a mocking tone. He must have been eavesdropping on my conversation with Tom, and he clearly wasn't impressed. "What did you think of the show this evening? Actually, that's hardly a fair question since you've probably never been to the theatre before. So, how about something more your level? I wonder what you would think of the bathrooms in my new penthouse. I am sure you would find them very impressive. I will give you a call the next time my toilet gets clogged, and you can come and check them out." He seemed very pleased with his insults, so he continued, a condescending grin on his face. "Anyway, Dr. Anderson, as I was saying, it was charitable of you to let the help see how the rest of us live, and I am sure he is having a good time and all, but it's past time for him to bring his daddy's suit home, don't you think? Why don't you leave him to it, and you and I can go have a drink? And then; who knows? I had dealt with people like this prick for my entire life. When you grow up with one abusive parent and no money, you get used to just about everyone feeling like they are better than you. There was nothing I could do about that, but I learned to use humor as a shield to protect myself and deflect attention. But sometimes humor just wasn't enough. And when humor failed, a more direct approach was called for. "You know, if you're trying to insult me, you're going to have to work a whole lot harder than that. But I doubt that hard work is something that you're too familiar with. I have been working since I was twelve to put food on the table for my brother and sisters. I have been a plumber since I was fourteen; by the time I was fifteen, I am sure I had already spent more time ankle-deep in shit than you've spent doing honest work in your entire life. "I didn't borrow this suit from my father because I don't know who my father is; that's right, I'm a bastard. But I am a bastard by circumstance and not by choice. I was born this way, what's your excuse? And since you asked, the suit I'm wearing belonged to Erin's grandfather, and you're right, I would never be able to afford a suit like this myself. But it's an honor to wear a suit that belonged to a man who loved Erin more than anything in this world. If I am really lucky, maybe she will let me love her just as deeply one day. "I may not know that much about musicals or the theatre, but anything that brings that much joy to Erin is more than fine in my books. So, I am going to continue to have a wonderful time with Erin this evening. Why wouldn't I? I am here with the most beautiful woman in the place, or;" I swept my gaze over to Martha, who was still standing beside Erin, "tied for the most beautiful, anyway." The man's face was now distorted with anger, and he took a step towards me. I stepped forward to meet him, my eyes never leaving his. Before, I had been speaking loudly for the benefit of those around us, but now I was speaking in a controlled voice, pitched for his ears alone. "You can say what you want about me, you prick. I have no respect for arrogant shitheels like you, so I just don't care. But before you ever think about putting your hands on Erin again, without her consent, you would do well to remember the Pipe Wrench Incident. "When I was fourteen, two of the men my mother was having sex with, in exchange for drugs, decided that my sister Alison should join in their fun. She was just nine years old. Luckily, I was home at the time, but I was just a kid, and they were fully grown men. When it was over, they were in the hospital, and I was cleaning my pipe wrench with some WD-40 and a rag." I looked him up and down once, dismissively. "Remember that story the next time you're tempted to touch someone I love." I turned to Tom who had come over to stand with Martha. "I'm sorry I interrupted your lovely event, and please don't hold my bad manners against Erin. I don't want to cause any more trouble, so maybe we should be on our way." Tom held up his hand indicating that we should stay. "Dr. Allen, you're drunk and making an ass of yourself. Please see yourself out. On your way home, please consider what you would like me to say at the next Board meeting regarding your behavior tonight." As a chastened Dr. Allen left the reception, Erin leaned over and whispered in my ear, "So, I'm someone you love, am I?" Before I could stammer a reply, Erin kissed my cheek and led me away to get a drink. We avoided the topic of Dr. Allen for the rest of the evening until we were on our way back to the hotel. "Did you really put two men in the hospital with a pipe wrench?" I chuckled softly before responding. "That part of the story is 100% true. What I didn't mention, though, was that they were both stoned at the time and facing the other direction. They would have killed me in a fair fight." It was close to midnight by the time we made it back to the hotel. We held each other's hands as we walked to the elevators, and Erin leaned against me as the doors closed. "Davis, how would you like this evening to end?" My heart started racing and my hands trembled. "I; I want to be with you. But, I have never;" "Are you still a virgin?" "I kissed a girl once, back in high school, but it was nothing like kissing you. I want you more than anything I have ever wanted in my life, but I don't want to disappoint you." Erin tried to stay calm as she replied. "So, you think that I am some kind of floozy who is going to compare you to all my past conquests?" "No, that's not it at all, I;" "Or do you think that I am so shallow that I will get mad at you if it takes a little while for you to learn what I like?" "No, I don't think that either;" "Okay, then. Here is what's going to happen. When we get to our room, you are going to move some of the furniture out of the way, while I put on some music. You still remember how to dance, right? And then we will take things slowly. I will let you know what makes me feel good, and you will let me know what makes you feel even better. And we will be together, and that's all that matters." And that is what happened. Erin started a playlist of songs that she liked, and we slowly danced together in our room. After the first song ended, she nuzzled into my chest as she loosened my tie and undid the first two buttons of my shirt. When the next song started, she started gently kissing and then licking my chest, causing my manhood to stiffen almost painfully. "Well, hello, my rather large friend. You need to be patient, for now. But if you're good, I may kiss you as well before the night is done." Her sensuous voice, and the image it evoked, were definitely not conducive to patience, and I let out a low moan of pleasure. "That's what I like to hear," she murmured as she untucked my shirt and continued to undo my buttons until she could run her tongue over my nipples and tweak them with her teeth. She looked up at me with sultry, half-lidded eyes. "It's okay for you to touch me as well if you want," she said, as she took one of my hands and slid it under the back of her dress and down to her silky-smooth cheeks. She slid my other hand under the front of her dress so that it cupped her tit, and she sucked in a breath as I stroked my callused thumb over her nipple. "Now some women like it when you;" I kissed her before she could finish her thought. "Erin, I don't care what some women like, the only woman I want is you." "Oh," she replied in a breathy voice. "Well, I like it when you're a bit rougher with my tits. Not right away, I need to be in the mood; like I am now;" She lost her train of thought as my hand enveloped and massaged her tit, squeezing her nipple lightly between my thumb and forefinger as I lifted it away from her body. "Mmmm, yes. Just like that, baby." I felt a wave of heat roll up the fingers on my other hand, so I slid it further down until I felt a small triangle of material, that was slick with liquid heat. I slipped my finger a little further and felt her long smooth cunt open at my touch. "Oh, Baby," Erin whispered huskily into my ear. "We are going to have so much fun tonight." It was strange going back to my regular life after my night with Erin. The time with her was so incredible, and so beyond anything I could ever have imagined, that it didn't seem real. To be continued in part 4. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts, for Literotica.

Michigan Weather and Women: Part 1 Love, bastards, and what we leave behind. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Connected. The Plumber, The Painter, and the Wind off the Lake Prologue I have never been much for following instructions or doing what I'm told. In eighth grade, we were assigned to make a volcano in science class. I figured that if the eruption looked good with a couple of tablespoons of baking soda, then it would look even better with the whole container! And what better place for a natural disaster than the teacher's desk at the front of the class. I was right; the whole container of baking soda produced an impressive explosion. What I didn't count on, however, was it producing a week-long suspension from school and a beating from my mother. In high school, we had to take an art class to graduate. Our teacher loved still life drawing and would ramble endlessly about how it revealed the beauty that is in the everyday objects that surround us. I guess he wanted us to reveal the beauty in the bowl of fruit that he had put in the middle of the classroom, but the most beautiful things that I could see were Brittany Johnson's D-cups which filled out her sweater gloriously. At the end of the class, there were 29 drawings of a bowl of fruit and one drawing of a beautiful girl's smile (amongst other details). Although I was suspended for two days, I got a date with Brittany who loved my drawing, so I feel like I came out ahead on that one. In my last year of school, the final mathematics exam asked the following question: Determine the points of intersection between the following parabolas and lines. Illustrate fully. While the other students slaved away to solve the listed problems in the allotted time, I fully illustrated a drawing of our math teacher, Mr. Aaronson, dancing a slow waltz in a field of sunflowers with Mrs. Stevens, the geography teacher. It was the worst-kept secret in the school that our two shyest teachers had massive crushes on each other, and after four years of watching them pine away, I thought they could use a little push. I failed the test, but Mr. Aaronson showed my drawing to Mrs. Stevens during a particularly dull staff meeting, and when it made her blush and smile, he finally got up the courage to ask her out. They are now married and have a little girl who is as cute as a button. At the end of the year, Mr. Aaronson asked me if I planned to pursue math in the future, and when I assured him that I did not, he gave me a passing grade. So, what was my problem, you might ask? Was I just one of those kids who didn't give a shit and was destined for mediocrity or failure in life? Like many things, the answer is more complicated than it might first appear, but I am getting ahead of myself. Our story starts on an unusually cold and blustery afternoon in late October, on the north-eastern shore of Lake Michigan about a half hour's drive north of Petoskey, just outside a village called Good Hart. Chapter 1. It had been a busy day. The perfect storm of an early season snap freeze, strong winds, and lake-effect snow meant that there was a couple of inches of snow on the still soggy ground, along with a number of leaky or burst pipes, malfunctioning valves, and boiler issues as people cranked their heating systems up to full for the first time that year. As a plumber, though, I didn't mind. It just meant more work for me, which was always a good thing. At only 25 years of age, and despite being a master plumber, I was generally the last choice for folks to call, even in an emergency. Anyone with money chose one of the larger and more established plumbing contractors, leaving me with the jobs that they didn't feel were worth their time or effort. That's how I found myself pulling into the laneway of an older house, just off Lamkin Road down by the lake, late that Friday afternoon. It was my last job of the day, but I would be working over the weekend to catch up on my backlog, so I wanted to get it done. The house looked like it hadn't been updated since it was built, likely in the late fifties or early sixties, other than a couple of coats of paint and a new roof when the original finally gave up the ghost. The front gardens were neatly tended, however, and the property itself was stunning, with panoramic views in three directions out over the lake. The sun was just beginning to dip toward the western horizon as I drove up, so the trees cast long shadows across the laneway. The house was owned by Mrs. Wilma C. Anderson, who had called me earlier in the day to say that some of her radiators weren't working and that her boiler was making one hell of a racket when she turned it on. I told her to shut the system down and that I would look at it by the end of the day. She sounded quite elderly, and I didn't like the idea of her going without heat for a night during a cold snap. I rang the doorbell and waited until a tiny wisp of a woman answered. She couldn't have been more than five feet tall and looked older than the hills, but her face was full of life, and her eyes had a twinkle that spoke of humor and mischief. "Hi, Mrs. Anderson, I'm Davis Crawford. You called earlier about some issues with your boiler and heating system. How can I help?" Mrs. Anderson gave me an appraising look. "I wasn't expecting you to be such a handsome young man. If I were fifty years younger, I would tell you exactly how you could help me, and then I'd teach you a trick or two I learned over the years. But I am too old for that kind of foolishness these days, so I will just have to make use of your plumbing expertise instead. And please, call me Wilma." I couldn't help but laugh and blush at Wilma's surprisingly raunchy sense of humor. I liked her immediately. "Let's try that again. What seems to be the problem?" "Well, the biggest problem is that I am 91 years old and dying of cancer. The doctors give me less than a year to live. But aside from that, I really can't complain. I have had a good run of it." I cocked my head to one side and gave her a bemused look. "Oh, you were wondering what the problem is with my heating system. Well, I turned it on this morning when I got up, and the boiler sounded like there was someone trapped inside of it trying to hammer their way out. There was a worrisome hissing from some of the radiators, as well, and they weren't heating up worth a damn. "My husband, Phillip, used to take care of those things for us, but he has been gone for almost five years now, so I hate to think what you will find when you look around." "I'm sure I can help you, Mrs. Anderson,;" "Wilma, please." "Sorry, Wilma. Why don't you show me to the basement, and I will try to figure out what's wrong. Then I can get started on fixing it." On the way to the basement stairs, Wilma led me through her crowded but orderly living room. I couldn't help but notice the paintings on just about every surface of its walls. "You have a real eye for art, Wilma. Those paintings are beautiful." Wilma smiled wistfully at me and got a faraway look in her eyes as she replied. "Phillip and I were artists. I guess I still am, but I haven't felt much like painting since he passed on. Phillip painted portraits. He made a surprisingly good living at it; you would be amazed at what rich people will pay to see their lives immortalized in oil on canvas. I never had the knack. Phillip could make even the most corpulent and corrupt industrialist appear regal and wise. I could only ever capture what I actually saw in them, and I quickly discovered that they did not enjoy, or pay for, that kind of introspection. "So, I painted landscapes, and there is always a market for those. But I kept some of my favorite pieces, over the years, as you can see." As Wilma spoke, I took a closer look at the paintings. One, in particular, was striking; a portrait of a beautiful young woman, in her late teens or early twenties, with a stethoscope around her neck and her blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She was wearing a loose hoodie and was curled up in an Adirondack chair, reading a book. It was not what you would expect from a formal portrait, but it seemed to capture her essence in a way that no photograph could match. I must have stopped moving as I was drawn into the image, so Wilma gave me a minute before she continued. "That's the last painting that Phillip worked on before he passed. He didn't get the chance to finish it, but I still think it's his finest work." I couldn't help but agree. "Who's the model? She's beautiful." "That's my granddaughter, Erin. You can't tell from the portrait, but she's a real firecracker. As a grandparent, you're not supposed to play favorites, but she was very special to Phillip, and it hit her hard when he passed. There is more love in that one painting than in all the other portraits that he painted over his lifetime. Except for his first, of course, of me." "Where are Phillips' other works? Surely, they weren't all commissions that are now locked away in some dusty millionaire's palace." Wilma's expression turned bleak as she contemplated her response. "All of his other paintings were sold after he died. The kids said they would fetch a better price while there was an upswing of interest in his work after his death, so they insisted that they all go to auction as quickly as possible. They were probably right, I guess, although I loved his art more than I needed the money. But how do you argue with your kids when they have just lost their father?" "Do any of your children live nearby?" "They all moved far away. Phillip and I chose a wonderful spot to live and make our art, but a challenging place to raise a family. It's not so bad now, what with the internet, highways, and the like, but when we first moved here sixty-some years ago, it was very isolated. We were young and selfish, and our selfishness cost us dearly. "We thought that our children would grow to love this area over time, like we did. But they never did, and they left as soon as they could get away. My daughter, Samantha, is a retired lawyer and she and her third husband split their time between their loft in Manhattan and their beach house in the Bahamas. My son, Robert, is an oil executive down in Texas. Neither of them has been here in more than a decade, except for Phillip's funeral. "My baby, Max, passed away more than twenty years ago now of cancer. Erin is his granddaughter. She is a pediatrician, and she splits her time between the hospital in Petoskey and the children's hospital down in Grand Rapids. She comes to see me when she can, but she is very busy. My other relatives all live busy lives far away from here. We chose to live here, though, so I can't be too upset that the rest of the family chose to live far away. "But enough about me. What about you, Mr. Crawford? Do you have any children?" "It's just me and my siblings, I'm afraid, and it's been that way for quite some time. My oldest sister, Alison, is 20, and she goes to college at North Central Michigan, in Petoskey. She is planning to become a nurse practitioner. The rest of the gang still lives at home with me. Sharon is 17 now, so she kind of runs the show while I am working; Mary is 15 but going on 30, if you know what I mean; and Lane is the baby of the family at 12." "Where are your parents?" "I don't honestly know. We each have a different father, or at least we think we do. Sharon, Lane, and I have no idea who our fathers are, so there's a chance that we might be full siblings, but I doubt it. My mother never kept the same man around for long. Alison's father has been in and out of jail since before she was born and is currently serving a stint in federal prison. But Mary has it the worst of all of us. "My mother met Mary's dad on a weekend bender in Vegas, and he is a pretty big deal. Rich, famous, the kind of guy you see on TV and the cover of magazines. A real family man, except when it comes to Mary, whom he refuses to even acknowledge. He bought my mom's silence with a lump sum payment and a non-disclosure agreement. That money was supposed to be put in a trust for Mary, but my mom snorted and injected it all in less than a year. Mary has written to her father dozens of times and reached out to him on social media countless more, but he wants nothing to do with his bastard daughter. "As for my mom, she went away for the weekend almost seven years ago now and left me in charge. And I am still in charge, I guess. So, no time for dating or romance for me, and I think that I will be just about done with raising kids by the time that Lane goes off to college." Wilma gave me a look filled with more empathy than I had felt in a long time, maybe ever. "Anyway, I should take a look at your boiler and see what I can do about getting you some heat." I would have called the boiler in Wilma's basement old, but that wouldn't have done it justice. Frankly, it wouldn't have seemed out of place in a museum of heating and plumbing, and it was hanging on to life by the barest of threads. With only a year to live, however, I wasn't going to recommend to Wilma that she replace the whole system with something more modern and efficient. "I think I can fix your boiler so that it will hold on for another year or two, and I can patch a couple of leaks in the lines to the main radiators as well. One line to a radiator at the back of the house is completely shot, so I will shut that one off and be back to replace it later this week." "What's all that going to cost?" "It's free of charge, Ma'am. You've got enough to look after with your health and all, without having to worry about your heating system. I never had a grandma to spoil, at least not one that I know of, so it would be my pleasure to do this for you." "Please, it's Wilma. And it's a grandmother's prerogative to spoil her grandchildren, and not the other way around. But your kindness is mighty appreciated, Davis." It took me a couple of hours to shore up the boiler and repair the lines that were still in reasonable condition before I was finished for the day. As I got ready to leave, I found Wilma sitting alone in the living room reading an old paperback. "I'll call you later this week, once the replacement line for your radiator comes in." Wilma got a mischievous smile on her face. "Why, Davis, are you getting fresh with me?" "If I were older and more experienced, I would in an instant. But I hardly think I can compete with the memory of your Phillip." "Too true, too true. Alright young man, well thank you for taking the time to look after a foolish old woman on a cold October night." "I hardly think you're foolish, Wilma, but it's been my pleasure." I didn't get home from Wilma's until well after nine that night, and by the time I pulled into our gravel driveway, I was beat. The dilapidated old yard light mounted on the roof of the garage shone weakly down on the sloppy mix of gravel and mud that was our yard, and I could hear the excited barks of Munchkin, our rescue puppy. He was a mix of German Shepherd and Cane Corso, with some variety of northern dog thrown in, and he was mighty pleased to see me. I'm glad that someone was. I came into our small three-bedroom rental to find Sharon and Lane sitting at the dining room table working on his math homework. I wish that they reacted like Munchkin when they saw me, but Lane just grunted a hello, while Sharon looked up at me with a mixture of sadness and worry. "Mary is out with the McDougal brothers again. They showed up here a half hour ago, I told her not to go with them, but she wouldn't listen." "The McDougal brothers are assholes," was Lane's addition to the conversation, without even looking up from the table. He wasn't wrong. The oldest McDougall brother, Calum, was a couple of years ahead of me at school and was a bully and a braggart. Two of his three brothers had followed in his esteemed footsteps, while the jury was still out on the youngest, James. "I'm going to go get her. Next time that those boys turn up in our yard, let Munchkin lose on them." "Alright, dinner will be in the oven when you get back. Given 'em hell, Bro." The McDougal brothers lived just outside Pellston in the closest thing to a mansion that you could find in our neck of the woods. Their family owned the largest construction and maintenance company in the area and had most of the Public Works contracts sown up, along with a not inconsiderable portion of the private construction in our region as well. Their parents spent most of their time in Sarasota, Florida, though, and the brothers had free rein while they were gone. As I drove up their long, paved driveway, automatic floodlights came on, illuminating the ostentatious columns that flanked the entrance to their house. I parked in front of the nearest bay of their four-car attached garage while noting that there was another three-car garage further off to the right. I idly wondered who got to park in which garage. Rich people problems, I guess. I walked to the front door and let myself in. From the foyer, I could hear the loud thump of music coming from the back of the house, so I headed that way. As I passed through the kitchen, I nearly bumped into James, who was holding a couple of empty serving bowls. He stopped dead when he saw me, looking nervous, clearly not expecting anyone else to be in their house. Certainly not me, anyway. "Hey James, I am here to get my sister. Where is she?" He hesitated a moment before pointing toward the back of the house. "She's in the game room playing pool with the guys. We didn't force her to come here or anything, if that's what you're worried about." "Maybe that's true, James. But you know she is still a minor, and I am her guardian, so I'm going to fetch her and bring her home." James didn't like the sound of that, but I turned my back on him and followed the music to a large, sunken room at the back of the house, which had an expensive-looking pool table in the middle. The remaining McDougal brothers were either playing pool or smoking up on one of the couches that were scattered around the outside of the room. Calum was presiding over the festivities, while the Pistons game was playing on a wall-mounted TV that was bigger than some movie screens. Despite his family's blue-collar roots, Calum looked like an overgrown frat boy, with his preppy clothes and fifty-dollar haircut. Mary was sitting in the middle of one of the couches, with a McDougal brother on one side and one of their hangers-on on the other. She looked somewhere between uncomfortable and scared, but she gave me a defiant scowl. The music stopped, and everyone looked to Calum and then back at me. There was a nervous tension in the air. "Hi Calum, I'm here for my sister." Calum was now in a bit of a spot; he couldn't just let me come into his home and give him orders without losing face with his brothers and their cronies. But he also knew, or at least suspected, that my sister was underage. And then there was always the Pipe Wrench Incident. That always made people nervous to be around me. "That's not my problem. She told my brother that she wanted to party, so she's here to party. No one forced her to come, and she seems to be having a good time." I wondered if all of Calum's dates looked as scared and uncomfortable as Mary did at that moment when they were having a 'good time'. "Well, since she is still a minor and I'm her guardian, it's a bit of a problem. Or it could be. But I don't want to put a damper on your evening, so I'll just bring Mary home with me and we'll call it a night." Calum looked toward James who had just come back into the room with bowls now filled with potato chips. "Is that true, Limp dick? Did you bring an underage girl home to party with us?" James began to sputter before Calum shook his head in disgust. He pointed over at Mary. "Get the fuck out of here, and don't come back until you're sixteen," he said before turning back to me. "And you. Just get the fuck out of our house." It was a silent drive home. Mary refused to even look at me, staring out the window instead. When we pulled into our yard, Munchkin came running up to greet us, and Mary finally spoke. "You didn't need to embarrass me like that. I'm old enough to make my own choices, you know." "The law says you're still a minor. And you'll always be my sister. Those guys are no good, Mary. You know that." "James is different. He isn't like the rest of them." "Maybe that's true, or maybe not. But you don't hang out in a nest of rattlesnakes, just because there is a garter snake in there with them that you think is cute." After a pause and some continued barking from Munchkin, Mary finally looked over at me. "You're not my dad, you know. You can't tell me what to do." And there it was. It always came down to the same thing with Mary; her father's rejection of her. Over the years, it had undermined her self-esteem and destroyed her self-worth to the point where I wondered if they would ever recover. Unfortunately, I was just smart enough to see the problem, but I had no idea how to fix it. A brother's love can only go so far, I guess. "I know, Mary. I know. But I love you, and I am so proud of you, and I just wish that was enough." We sat in silence for another minute before she replied. "I wish it was too." Chapter 2. It took a couple of days for Mrs. Anderson's new radiator line to arrive, and I gave her a call when I went to pick it up. "Hi, Mrs. And; Wilma. I was just picking up the replacement line for your radiator, and I was wondering if you needed anything else from town, while I'm here. I was going to come by and install the line later this afternoon if that works for you." "That's very kind of you, Davis. Would you mind picking up a few groceries for me? I can send the store a list, so they will be ready for you when you get there." A couple of my calls that day took longer than expected, so it was late in the afternoon again by the time I made it to Wilma's place. The early season snow had mostly melted away, and her yard was now a combination of gravel and thick soupy mud that could swallow a tire as easily as it could swallow a boot. "Thank you for picking the groceries up for me, you're too kind." "It was no trouble at all, especially since I was coming out this way anyway. If you don't mind me asking, how do you usually get them?" "I used to have a young man up the way who would help me with groceries and yard work, and other small things, but now I am pretty much on my own." "What happened to him? Did he move away?" "No, he still lives in the same place that he always has, but I am pretty sure that my family paid him more not to help me than I was paying for his assistance." "What? That seems like a crappy thing for them to do to you." Wilma gave a resigned sigh and then offered me a coffee while she told me her story. "I think I told you the last time you were here, that most of my family has moved on from this place, except my granddaughter Erin. The rest of them already have an agreement in place with a developer, the McDougals, to turn this property into a high-end resort for the Fudgies, so they have someplace to spend their money after visiting Mackinac Island." "Fudgies," was what the locals called the tourists from down south who descended on the upper peninsula in the summer. "If you don't mind me asking, just how much land do you own?" "Well, Phillip and I didn't have much to spend our money on over the years, so we bought up many of the nearby properties when they went up for sale. We ended up with at least a quarter mile of land that fronts onto the lake, without even really trying." I let out a low whistle. "That must be worth a small fortune. I can understand your family's interest." "At first, they didn't care if I stayed in the house after Phillip died. They figured that I would follow soon enough. After a few years, however, they started to get impatient, and it's fair to say that they are now actively encouraging me to leave, by foot, by car, or in a box. They have generously offered to put me out to pasture in a warehouse for the old and infirm, though, to await my impending doom. "With my cancer, their wish is finally going to come true. By this time next year, I will be sipping coffee with Phillip in whatever afterlife we atheists get to enjoy. Actually, who am I kidding? If there is an afterlife for Phillip and me, the first thing I'm going to do when I get there is get on my knees, undo his belt buckle, and then show him just how much I've missed him these past five years. Wilma looked a bit startled as if she had just remembered that I was still there. "I'm sorry, Davis. You probably didn't need to hear that last part. I just miss him so much. I still see him in the trees and along the shore, and I sometimes hear his voice in the wind off the lake." "It's all good, Wilma. I just hope that my brother and sisters get to experience the kind of love that you and Phillip had someday." "What about you, Davis? Don't you deserve to experience that kind of love as well?" "Maybe I deserve it, Wilma, but I don't think I am going to find it. It's been tough; real tough, looking after my family all these years. I have done things that I am not proud of, but that needed to be done. I don't regret them; I would do anything to protect the people I love. But I doubt that anyone would be able to love me, once they found out what I've done." "I think you are selling yourself short, Davis. We are all artists, and we are all worthy of love." With that, Wilma offered to top up my coffee before I started replacing the broken line. As the evening's shadows deepened, I saw her watching me with compassion and concern in her eyes. Once I was finished, I felt her hand on my shoulder, and she gave it an empathetic squeeze. "A penny for your thoughts?" I stopped what I was doing and turned to look at her. "It's my sister, Mary. I am losing her. She is so hurt and angry that she is beginning to make bad choices, and I don't know how to help her. I've tried to be her brother, parent, and friend, but I'm failing at all three." Wilma offered no judgment, good or bad. She just listened, and when I finished, she spoke. "Bring her over this Sunday around noon. Tell her to wear some old clothes that she doesn't mind getting dirty. You can come too if you would like and bring your little brother to do some fishing, but Mary will be spending her time with me." It wasn't easy convincing Mary to come to Wilma's. If you have spent time dealing with teenage girls, you know that they can be as stubborn as late-season ice on the lake. In the end, I resorted to threats and bribery to get her onboard, but she assured me that she would hate every minute she was there. Lane came with us as well, with the promise that we could spend the afternoon fishing off the end of Wilma's dock. By the time we arrived, Mary was sullenly glued to the passenger seat and wouldn't look up from her phone. Wilma waited a few minutes for Mary, but she stubbornly refused to leave the truck. Eventually, Wilma pulled on her rubber boots and walked over to the truck. She looked up at Mary and started speaking. "There are three things that I know are true. "The first, I've already shared with your brother. We are all artists because we are all worthy of love. But many of us lose our way. We are hurt and abandoned, and we are buried in shame. I was like that for many years. But my husband, Phillip, found me and taught me what it is to be loved. Not just the physical act; although he taught me about that as well; but the certainty that I was seen, known, and cherished. He showed me that I am an artist. You are an artist too. "Second, I am old, I have cancer, and I will die. Not today, and hopefully not tomorrow, but soon. And that is okay; we all die. I have lived a good life. And when I do, I hope that Phillip will be waiting for me with a glass of chilled white wine and his beautiful smile. My art may linger for a while once I am gone but, eventually, it too will be lost. "Third, the world is full of bastards. Your brother tells me that you and he are both bastards. I will tell you a secret that I have shared with very few people; I am a bastard too. "My mother was beautiful but poor. Her parents lost everything during the Great Depression, and she worked as a housemaid for a rich and powerful man to support her family. When she fell pregnant, he put her out on the street and refused to recognize her child, his daughter; me. Because of his rejection, I spent too many years steeped in shame and self-loathing. But eventually, I learned a hard truth; my father was a bastard by choice, while I was a bastard by birth. And those of us who are bastards by birth must never let the bastards by choice win. "Come inside when you're ready. I'm too old and it's too cold for me to stand here waiting for you." With that, Wilma turned and slowly made her way back to the house. Surprisingly, after a minute, Mary followed. When they reached the door, Wilma turned to look back at me. "It's time for you boys to go fishing. There is a warm breeze off the lake that will bring you good luck." Lane and I made our way down the hill to the dock in silence, our fishing rods, ice chest, and tackle box in hand. Unlike a seasonal dock that would be taken out of the lake each fall, Wilma's dock could be used year-round and was built with heavy timbers and steel bracing, so it could withstand the crushing force of the winter's ice. When we reached the dock, we felt the warm wind that Wilma had promised, and we chose our lures and began to cast. After a half hour of fishing, Lane broke the silence. "Do you think it's my fault?" "Do I think what's your fault, Bud?" "That mom left us. That she never came back. Do you think it's my fault?" I sighed as I thought about my answer. "No. It's not your fault. It's no one's fault, really, maybe not even hers. It's funny though, she brought some amazing people into this world. I wish she could have seen how incredible you and your sisters have turned out. But she made her choice, and that's on her, not you." Lane thought about my answer before he continued. "But you would be better off without me. Sharon would have more time to study for the scholarship she will need to get away from here. I try to be nice to Mary, to make her feel better, but I just seem to make things worse for her as well. And I see how hard you work to keep our family together. I feel like you would all be better off without me. If I weren't here, maybe Mom would come back home." I took a deep breath and tried to push down the anger that threatened to overwhelm me; anger at my mother for abandoning us, anger at myself for never being enough, and anger at a world that would leave my brother feeling like it would be better off if he didn't exist. I felt the wind off the lake as it blew across my face, drying my unshed tears before they were formed. As I was wondering how to unbreak my brother's heart, a particularly strong gust of wind blew through and Lane's fishing rod bent into a deep arc, the tip dancing wildly as a fish fought against the line. "Dad! Help;" The drag clicked furiously as the fish pulled line, as Lane fought to keep his rod tip up. I quickly set my rod aside and braced him, my hands held loosely beside his as he fought to reel in his catch. We worked together for what seemed like an eternity before he finally fought his fish to the side of the dock. I grabbed the net and saw that he had hooked a steelhead trout that was easily two feet long and must have weighed at least eight pounds if not more. It was a wonder the drag held steady, and his line didn't break during the fight. As I scooped up his catch, the steelhead's silver sides shimmered like polished chrome in the fading light, and it was so big that it took up over half the ice chest I had brought along to store our catch. Lane was flushed with excitement at landing such an impressive fish, and I was so proud of him that my heart almost ached. "Nice work, Son." He just looked up at me for a moment before throwing his arms around me in a hug. In the time since our mother left, he had never called me by anything other than my name. I never tried to be his dad; I didn't think I was qualified, but I guess that all of us need someone in our lives who will love us without conditions or end. "Never think that you're a burden on me or the family. Maybe you need a bit more from us right now than you can give back, but that's alright. Because sixty years from now, when I am old and can't wipe my ass anymore, you are going to be paying me back in spades, alright?" With that, we went back to fishing in companionable silence. I pulled in a few smaller ones, but nothing to match Lane's steelhead. A few hours later, the wind had picked up and it was getting colder, so we packed up our equipment and made our way back toward the house. Halfway down the dock, however, a huge gust of wind swept through, and I heard a cry followed by a loud splash. Turning back, I saw that Lane's foot had slipped through a broken slat, and he had fallen off the dock. Without thinking, I dropped the ice box and rods and jumped into the water to help him. When I got him to shore, he couldn't put any weight on his ankle, and any efforts to do so were met with cries of pain. I quickly collected our discarded fishing gear and set it to one side, before helping him to slowly make his way back up the hill. The November chill quickly took hold of us as we walked, plastering our damp clothing to our skin, and we were shivering uncontrollably by the time we reached the house. I knocked but it took a minute for Wilma and Mary to come out from the studio at the back of the house. "I am sorry to cut things short, but Lane had an accident down at the dock and he sprained or maybe even broke his ankle. I am going to have to take him to the hospital in Petoskey to get it looked at before it swells up any further." Wilma looked at me with concern. "Maybe you should hold off at least for a little while. My granddaughter, Erin, the pediatrician, is coming for dinner tonight and should be here any minute. Why don't we let her take a look at it before you head into town? And let's get you out of those clothes; you must be freezing. I still have some of Phillip's things in the closet that might fit you." A few minutes later, I had changed into a pair of comfortable but slightly musty-smelling pants, with a warm sweater over a well-worn collared shirt. I was both taller and wider than Phillip had been, at least in the twilight of his years, so the pants were a bit short, while the sweater was tight across my shoulders. While I changed, Mary and Wilma had set Lane up on the couch with his ankle elevated on some pillows. I helped him change out of his wet clothing and into an old sweatshirt and shorts that fit over his swollen ankle. Once Lane was settled, Wilma and I talked quietly in the kitchen. "It's getting late, and you must be getting hungry, but I don't think I have enough to feed everyone." I thought for a moment. "We may be in luck. Lane caught the biggest steelhead I have ever seen earlier this afternoon, but I left it down by the dock after the accident. If you have a few potatoes and maybe a veg or two, I am sure I can whip something up that would feed us all." Wilma looked at me with a sly smile. "He cooks, he plumbs, and he cares for his family, all while cutting a dashing figure in my late husband's favorite sweater. You, Mr. Crawford, are a catch." "I am not sure about that, Wilma," I replied with a laugh, "But either way, this catch had better go and get our earlier catch, so I can get started on dinner." It took me almost half an hour to collect our fishing gear and bring it back up to the truck. By the time I was done, an older SUV was parked behind my truck, which meant that Erin had arrived. After I loaded the gear, I used the fishing knife and stained plastic cutting board that I kept in a bin under the back seat to clean and filet the steelhead before heading inside. From the doorway, I could see a head of sandy-blonde hair pulled back into a loose ponytail sticking up from the far side of the couch, and I heard a calm and melodic voice talking to Lane while Wilma and Mary looked on. I was so lost in that voice that I almost jumped when the latch on the door caught behind me. The head of sandy-blonde hair looked up at the sound, revealing a pair of amber, almost golden eyes. "You must be the father," said that same melodic voice, as those eyes bore their way into my soul. "It's Davis Crawford, and I'm the older brother." "Erin Anderson, nice to meet you. Can you get hold of your parents? We might need to take Lane to the hospital for some X-rays." "No," I replied more harshly than I intended. "No," I tried again, more gently but with an edge to my voice. "Our parents aren't around; I am as close as you're going to get. I am Lane's legal guardian if that helps." There was a slight pause as her amber eyes shifted from surprise to curiosity. "That helps a lot. Why don't you give me 15 minutes or so to take a look at this brave dude's ankle, then we can talk over some options, once I have a better sense of what's going on." "That okay with you, Bud?" I asked as I walked over to the couch. "Yeah, that should be fine," he replied, but his eyes were wide, and his cheeks were flushed. For a moment, I was worried that he might be running a fever, but then I got my first look at Erin, and I understood. Maybe she wasn't classically beautiful like a movie star or swimsuit model, but she was lean and fit, and from what I could see, had more than enough curves in all the right places. It was her face, however, that captured me. She had delicate features accentuated by her high cheekbones, and there was a softness to her expression that spoke of empathy and kindness. Her eyes, though intense, had a warmth that put me instantly at ease. I realized much too late that I had been staring at Erin for an uncomfortably long time while holding the bag of steelhead filets out like some kind of sacrificial offering. While I stood frozen, the look in Erin's beautiful eyes had shifted from curiosity to amusement; I would assume at the fish-carrying simpleton standing in front of her. "Thanks, Dr. Anderson; err, Erin. I appreciate your taking a look at him and; I am going to go cook us up some fish before I make an even bigger ass of myself." Wilma joined me in the kitchen, while Erin continued to assess Lane's injured ankle. We spent the next few minutes dicing the potatoes and veggies and tossing them with some olive oil, salt, and pepper before sprinkling the filets of steelhead with a mixture of herbs. I topped the fish with some slices of a less-than-fresh, but still edible, lemon I found in the fridge, before putting the whole thing in the oven. To be continued in part 2. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts, for Literotica.

Michigan Weather and Women: Part 1 Love, bastards, and what we leave behind. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Connected. The Plumber, The Painter, and the Wind off the Lake Prologue I have never been much for following instructions or doing what I'm told. In eighth grade, we were assigned to make a volcano in science class. I figured that if the eruption looked good with a couple of tablespoons of baking soda, then it would look even better with the whole container! And what better place for a natural disaster than the teacher's desk at the front of the class. I was right; the whole container of baking soda produced an impressive explosion. What I didn't count on, however, was it producing a week-long suspension from school and a beating from my mother. In high school, we had to take an art class to graduate. Our teacher loved still life drawing and would ramble endlessly about how it revealed the beauty that is in the everyday objects that surround us. I guess he wanted us to reveal the beauty in the bowl of fruit that he had put in the middle of the classroom, but the most beautiful things that I could see were Brittany Johnson's D-cups which filled out her sweater gloriously. At the end of the class, there were 29 drawings of a bowl of fruit and one drawing of a beautiful girl's smile (amongst other details). Although I was suspended for two days, I got a date with Brittany who loved my drawing, so I feel like I came out ahead on that one. In my last year of school, the final mathematics exam asked the following question: Determine the points of intersection between the following parabolas and lines. Illustrate fully. While the other students slaved away to solve the listed problems in the allotted time, I fully illustrated a drawing of our math teacher, Mr. Aaronson, dancing a slow waltz in a field of sunflowers with Mrs. Stevens, the geography teacher. It was the worst-kept secret in the school that our two shyest teachers had massive crushes on each other, and after four years of watching them pine away, I thought they could use a little push. I failed the test, but Mr. Aaronson showed my drawing to Mrs. Stevens during a particularly dull staff meeting, and when it made her blush and smile, he finally got up the courage to ask her out. They are now married and have a little girl who is as cute as a button. At the end of the year, Mr. Aaronson asked me if I planned to pursue math in the future, and when I assured him that I did not, he gave me a passing grade. So, what was my problem, you might ask? Was I just one of those kids who didn't give a shit and was destined for mediocrity or failure in life? Like many things, the answer is more complicated than it might first appear, but I am getting ahead of myself. Our story starts on an unusually cold and blustery afternoon in late October, on the north-eastern shore of Lake Michigan about a half hour's drive north of Petoskey, just outside a village called Good Hart. Chapter 1. It had been a busy day. The perfect storm of an early season snap freeze, strong winds, and lake-effect snow meant that there was a couple of inches of snow on the still soggy ground, along with a number of leaky or burst pipes, malfunctioning valves, and boiler issues as people cranked their heating systems up to full for the first time that year. As a plumber, though, I didn't mind. It just meant more work for me, which was always a good thing. At only 25 years of age, and despite being a master plumber, I was generally the last choice for folks to call, even in an emergency. Anyone with money chose one of the larger and more established plumbing contractors, leaving me with the jobs that they didn't feel were worth their time or effort. That's how I found myself pulling into the laneway of an older house, just off Lamkin Road down by the lake, late that Friday afternoon. It was my last job of the day, but I would be working over the weekend to catch up on my backlog, so I wanted to get it done. The house looked like it hadn't been updated since it was built, likely in the late fifties or early sixties, other than a couple of coats of paint and a new roof when the original finally gave up the ghost. The front gardens were neatly tended, however, and the property itself was stunning, with panoramic views in three directions out over the lake. The sun was just beginning to dip toward the western horizon as I drove up, so the trees cast long shadows across the laneway. The house was owned by Mrs. Wilma C. Anderson, who had called me earlier in the day to say that some of her radiators weren't working and that her boiler was making one hell of a racket when she turned it on. I told her to shut the system down and that I would look at it by the end of the day. She sounded quite elderly, and I didn't like the idea of her going without heat for a night during a cold snap. I rang the doorbell and waited until a tiny wisp of a woman answered. She couldn't have been more than five feet tall and looked older than the hills, but her face was full of life, and her eyes had a twinkle that spoke of humor and mischief. "Hi, Mrs. Anderson, I'm Davis Crawford. You called earlier about some issues with your boiler and heating system. How can I help?" Mrs. Anderson gave me an appraising look. "I wasn't expecting you to be such a handsome young man. If I were fifty years younger, I would tell you exactly how you could help me, and then I'd teach you a trick or two I learned over the years. But I am too old for that kind of foolishness these days, so I will just have to make use of your plumbing expertise instead. And please, call me Wilma." I couldn't help but laugh and blush at Wilma's surprisingly raunchy sense of humor. I liked her immediately. "Let's try that again. What seems to be the problem?" "Well, the biggest problem is that I am 91 years old and dying of cancer. The doctors give me less than a year to live. But aside from that, I really can't complain. I have had a good run of it." I cocked my head to one side and gave her a bemused look. "Oh, you were wondering what the problem is with my heating system. Well, I turned it on this morning when I got up, and the boiler sounded like there was someone trapped inside of it trying to hammer their way out. There was a worrisome hissing from some of the radiators, as well, and they weren't heating up worth a damn. "My husband, Phillip, used to take care of those things for us, but he has been gone for almost five years now, so I hate to think what you will find when you look around." "I'm sure I can help you, Mrs. Anderson,;" "Wilma, please." "Sorry, Wilma. Why don't you show me to the basement, and I will try to figure out what's wrong. Then I can get started on fixing it." On the way to the basement stairs, Wilma led me through her crowded but orderly living room. I couldn't help but notice the paintings on just about every surface of its walls. "You have a real eye for art, Wilma. Those paintings are beautiful." Wilma smiled wistfully at me and got a faraway look in her eyes as she replied. "Phillip and I were artists. I guess I still am, but I haven't felt much like painting since he passed on. Phillip painted portraits. He made a surprisingly good living at it; you would be amazed at what rich people will pay to see their lives immortalized in oil on canvas. I never had the knack. Phillip could make even the most corpulent and corrupt industrialist appear regal and wise. I could only ever capture what I actually saw in them, and I quickly discovered that they did not enjoy, or pay for, that kind of introspection. "So, I painted landscapes, and there is always a market for those. But I kept some of my favorite pieces, over the years, as you can see." As Wilma spoke, I took a closer look at the paintings. One, in particular, was striking; a portrait of a beautiful young woman, in her late teens or early twenties, with a stethoscope around her neck and her blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She was wearing a loose hoodie and was curled up in an Adirondack chair, reading a book. It was not what you would expect from a formal portrait, but it seemed to capture her essence in a way that no photograph could match. I must have stopped moving as I was drawn into the image, so Wilma gave me a minute before she continued. "That's the last painting that Phillip worked on before he passed. He didn't get the chance to finish it, but I still think it's his finest work." I couldn't help but agree. "Who's the model? She's beautiful." "That's my granddaughter, Erin. You can't tell from the portrait, but she's a real firecracker. As a grandparent, you're not supposed to play favorites, but she was very special to Phillip, and it hit her hard when he passed. There is more love in that one painting than in all the other portraits that he painted over his lifetime. Except for his first, of course, of me." "Where are Phillips' other works? Surely, they weren't all commissions that are now locked away in some dusty millionaire's palace." Wilma's expression turned bleak as she contemplated her response. "All of his other paintings were sold after he died. The kids said they would fetch a better price while there was an upswing of interest in his work after his death, so they insisted that they all go to auction as quickly as possible. They were probably right, I guess, although I loved his art more than I needed the money. But how do you argue with your kids when they have just lost their father?" "Do any of your children live nearby?" "They all moved far away. Phillip and I chose a wonderful spot to live and make our art, but a challenging place to raise a family. It's not so bad now, what with the internet, highways, and the like, but when we first moved here sixty-some years ago, it was very isolated. We were young and selfish, and our selfishness cost us dearly. "We thought that our children would grow to love this area over time, like we did. But they never did, and they left as soon as they could get away. My daughter, Samantha, is a retired lawyer and she and her third husband split their time between their loft in Manhattan and their beach house in the Bahamas. My son, Robert, is an oil executive down in Texas. Neither of them has been here in more than a decade, except for Phillip's funeral. "My baby, Max, passed away more than twenty years ago now of cancer. Erin is his granddaughter. She is a pediatrician, and she splits her time between the hospital in Petoskey and the children's hospital down in Grand Rapids. She comes to see me when she can, but she is very busy. My other relatives all live busy lives far away from here. We chose to live here, though, so I can't be too upset that the rest of the family chose to live far away. "But enough about me. What about you, Mr. Crawford? Do you have any children?" "It's just me and my siblings, I'm afraid, and it's been that way for quite some time. My oldest sister, Alison, is 20, and she goes to college at North Central Michigan, in Petoskey. She is planning to become a nurse practitioner. The rest of the gang still lives at home with me. Sharon is 17 now, so she kind of runs the show while I am working; Mary is 15 but going on 30, if you know what I mean; and Lane is the baby of the family at 12." "Where are your parents?" "I don't honestly know. We each have a different father, or at least we think we do. Sharon, Lane, and I have no idea who our fathers are, so there's a chance that we might be full siblings, but I doubt it. My mother never kept the same man around for long. Alison's father has been in and out of jail since before she was born and is currently serving a stint in federal prison. But Mary has it the worst of all of us. "My mother met Mary's dad on a weekend bender in Vegas, and he is a pretty big deal. Rich, famous, the kind of guy you see on TV and the cover of magazines. A real family man, except when it comes to Mary, whom he refuses to even acknowledge. He bought my mom's silence with a lump sum payment and a non-disclosure agreement. That money was supposed to be put in a trust for Mary, but my mom snorted and injected it all in less than a year. Mary has written to her father dozens of times and reached out to him on social media countless more, but he wants nothing to do with his bastard daughter. "As for my mom, she went away for the weekend almost seven years ago now and left me in charge. And I am still in charge, I guess. So, no time for dating or romance for me, and I think that I will be just about done with raising kids by the time that Lane goes off to college." Wilma gave me a look filled with more empathy than I had felt in a long time, maybe ever. "Anyway, I should take a look at your boiler and see what I can do about getting you some heat." I would have called the boiler in Wilma's basement old, but that wouldn't have done it justice. Frankly, it wouldn't have seemed out of place in a museum of heating and plumbing, and it was hanging on to life by the barest of threads. With only a year to live, however, I wasn't going to recommend to Wilma that she replace the whole system with something more modern and efficient. "I think I can fix your boiler so that it will hold on for another year or two, and I can patch a couple of leaks in the lines to the main radiators as well. One line to a radiator at the back of the house is completely shot, so I will shut that one off and be back to replace it later this week." "What's all that going to cost?" "It's free of charge, Ma'am. You've got enough to look after with your health and all, without having to worry about your heating system. I never had a grandma to spoil, at least not one that I know of, so it would be my pleasure to do this for you." "Please, it's Wilma. And it's a grandmother's prerogative to spoil her grandchildren, and not the other way around. But your kindness is mighty appreciated, Davis." It took me a couple of hours to shore up the boiler and repair the lines that were still in reasonable condition before I was finished for the day. As I got ready to leave, I found Wilma sitting alone in the living room reading an old paperback. "I'll call you later this week, once the replacement line for your radiator comes in." Wilma got a mischievous smile on her face. "Why, Davis, are you getting fresh with me?" "If I were older and more experienced, I would in an instant. But I hardly think I can compete with the memory of your Phillip." "Too true, too true. Alright young man, well thank you for taking the time to look after a foolish old woman on a cold October night." "I hardly think you're foolish, Wilma, but it's been my pleasure." I didn't get home from Wilma's until well after nine that night, and by the time I pulled into our gravel driveway, I was beat. The dilapidated old yard light mounted on the roof of the garage shone weakly down on the sloppy mix of gravel and mud that was our yard, and I could hear the excited barks of Munchkin, our rescue puppy. He was a mix of German Shepherd and Cane Corso, with some variety of northern dog thrown in, and he was mighty pleased to see me. I'm glad that someone was. I came into our small three-bedroom rental to find Sharon and Lane sitting at the dining room table working on his math homework. I wish that they reacted like Munchkin when they saw me, but Lane just grunted a hello, while Sharon looked up at me with a mixture of sadness and worry. "Mary is out with the McDougal brothers again. They showed up here a half hour ago, I told her not to go with them, but she wouldn't listen." "The McDougal brothers are assholes," was Lane's addition to the conversation, without even looking up from the table. He wasn't wrong. The oldest McDougall brother, Calum, was a couple of years ahead of me at school and was a bully and a braggart. Two of his three brothers had followed in his esteemed footsteps, while the jury was still out on the youngest, James. "I'm going to go get her. Next time that those boys turn up in our yard, let Munchkin lose on them." "Alright, dinner will be in the oven when you get back. Given 'em hell, Bro." The McDougal brothers lived just outside Pellston in the closest thing to a mansion that you could find in our neck of the woods. Their family owned the largest construction and maintenance company in the area and had most of the Public Works contracts sown up, along with a not inconsiderable portion of the private construction in our region as well. Their parents spent most of their time in Sarasota, Florida, though, and the brothers had free rein while they were gone. As I drove up their long, paved driveway, automatic floodlights came on, illuminating the ostentatious columns that flanked the entrance to their house. I parked in front of the nearest bay of their four-car attached garage while noting that there was another three-car garage further off to the right. I idly wondered who got to park in which garage. Rich people problems, I guess. I walked to the front door and let myself in. From the foyer, I could hear the loud thump of music coming from the back of the house, so I headed that way. As I passed through the kitchen, I nearly bumped into James, who was holding a couple of empty serving bowls. He stopped dead when he saw me, looking nervous, clearly not expecting anyone else to be in their house. Certainly not me, anyway. "Hey James, I am here to get my sister. Where is she?" He hesitated a moment before pointing toward the back of the house. "She's in the game room playing pool with the guys. We didn't force her to come here or anything, if that's what you're worried about." "Maybe that's true, James. But you know she is still a minor, and I am her guardian, so I'm going to fetch her and bring her home." James didn't like the sound of that, but I turned my back on him and followed the music to a large, sunken room at the back of the house, which had an expensive-looking pool table in the middle. The remaining McDougal brothers were either playing pool or smoking up on one of the couches that were scattered around the outside of the room. Calum was presiding over the festivities, while the Pistons game was playing on a wall-mounted TV that was bigger than some movie screens. Despite his family's blue-collar roots, Calum looked like an overgrown frat boy, with his preppy clothes and fifty-dollar haircut. Mary was sitting in the middle of one of the couches, with a McDougal brother on one side and one of their hangers-on on the other. She looked somewhere between uncomfortable and scared, but she gave me a defiant scowl. The music stopped, and everyone looked to Calum and then back at me. There was a nervous tension in the air. "Hi Calum, I'm here for my sister." Calum was now in a bit of a spot; he couldn't just let me come into his home and give him orders without losing face with his brothers and their cronies. But he also knew, or at least suspected, that my sister was underage. And then there was always the Pipe Wrench Incident. That always made people nervous to be around me. "That's not my problem. She told my brother that she wanted to party, so she's here to party. No one forced her to come, and she seems to be having a good time." I wondered if all of Calum's dates looked as scared and uncomfortable as Mary did at that moment when they were having a 'good time'. "Well, since she is still a minor and I'm her guardian, it's a bit of a problem. Or it could be. But I don't want to put a damper on your evening, so I'll just bring Mary home with me and we'll call it a night." Calum looked toward James who had just come back into the room with bowls now filled with potato chips. "Is that true, Limp dick? Did you bring an underage girl home to party with us?" James began to sputter before Calum shook his head in disgust. He pointed over at Mary. "Get the fuck out of here, and don't come back until you're sixteen," he said before turning back to me. "And you. Just get the fuck out of our house." It was a silent drive home. Mary refused to even look at me, staring out the window instead. When we pulled into our yard, Munchkin came running up to greet us, and Mary finally spoke. "You didn't need to embarrass me like that. I'm old enough to make my own choices, you know." "The law says you're still a minor. And you'll always be my sister. Those guys are no good, Mary. You know that." "James is different. He isn't like the rest of them." "Maybe that's true, or maybe not. But you don't hang out in a nest of rattlesnakes, just because there is a garter snake in there with them that you think is cute." After a pause and some continued barking from Munchkin, Mary finally looked over at me. "You're not my dad, you know. You can't tell me what to do." And there it was. It always came down to the same thing with Mary; her father's rejection of her. Over the years, it had undermined her self-esteem and destroyed her self-worth to the point where I wondered if they would ever recover. Unfortunately, I was just smart enough to see the problem, but I had no idea how to fix it. A brother's love can only go so far, I guess. "I know, Mary. I know. But I love you, and I am so proud of you, and I just wish that was enough." We sat in silence for another minute before she replied. "I wish it was too." Chapter 2. It took a couple of days for Mrs. Anderson's new radiator line to arrive, and I gave her a call when I went to pick it up. "Hi, Mrs. And; Wilma. I was just picking up the replacement line for your radiator, and I was wondering if you needed anything else from town, while I'm here. I was going to come by and install the line later this afternoon if that works for you." "That's very kind of you, Davis. Would you mind picking up a few groceries for me? I can send the store a list, so they will be ready for you when you get there." A couple of my calls that day took longer than expected, so it was late in the afternoon again by the time I made it to Wilma's place. The early season snow had mostly melted away, and her yard was now a combination of gravel and thick soupy mud that could swallow a tire as easily as it could swallow a boot. "Thank you for picking the groceries up for me, you're too kind." "It was no trouble at all, especially since I was coming out this way anyway. If you don't mind me asking, how do you usually get them?" "I used to have a young man up the way who would help me with groceries and yard work, and other small things, but now I am pretty much on my own." "What happened to him? Did he move away?" "No, he still lives in the same place that he always has, but I am pretty sure that my family paid him more not to help me than I was paying for his assistance." "What? That seems like a crappy thing for them to do to you." Wilma gave a resigned sigh and then offered me a coffee while she told me her story. "I think I told you the last time you were here, that most of my family has moved on from this place, except my granddaughter Erin. The rest of them already have an agreement in place with a developer, the McDougals, to turn this property into a high-end resort for the Fudgies, so they have someplace to spend their money after visiting Mackinac Island." "Fudgies," was what the locals called the tourists from down south who descended on the upper peninsula in the summer. "If you don't mind me asking, just how much land do you own?" "Well, Phillip and I didn't have much to spend our money on over the years, so we bought up many of the nearby properties when they went up for sale. We ended up with at least a quarter mile of land that fronts onto the lake, without even really trying." I let out a low whistle. "That must be worth a small fortune. I can understand your family's interest." "At first, they didn't care if I stayed in the house after Phillip died. They figured that I would follow soon enough. After a few years, however, they started to get impatient, and it's fair to say that they are now actively encouraging me to leave, by foot, by car, or in a box. They have generously offered to put me out to pasture in a warehouse for the old and infirm, though, to await my impending doom. "With my cancer, their wish is finally going to come true. By this time next year, I will be sipping coffee with Phillip in whatever afterlife we atheists get to enjoy. Actually, who am I kidding? If there is an afterlife for Phillip and me, the first thing I'm going to do when I get there is get on my knees, undo his belt buckle, and then show him just how much I've missed him these past five years. Wilma looked a bit startled as if she had just remembered that I was still there. "I'm sorry, Davis. You probably didn't need to hear that last part. I just miss him so much. I still see him in the trees and along the shore, and I sometimes hear his voice in the wind off the lake." "It's all good, Wilma. I just hope that my brother and sisters get to experience the kind of love that you and Phillip had someday." "What about you, Davis? Don't you deserve to experience that kind of love as well?" "Maybe I deserve it, Wilma, but I don't think I am going to find it. It's been tough; real tough, looking after my family all these years. I have done things that I am not proud of, but that needed to be done. I don't regret them; I would do anything to protect the people I love. But I doubt that anyone would be able to love me, once they found out what I've done." "I think you are selling yourself short, Davis. We are all artists, and we are all worthy of love." With that, Wilma offered to top up my coffee before I started replacing the broken line. As the evening's shadows deepened, I saw her watching me with compassion and concern in her eyes. Once I was finished, I felt her hand on my shoulder, and she gave it an empathetic squeeze. "A penny for your thoughts?" I stopped what I was doing and turned to look at her. "It's my sister, Mary. I am losing her. She is so hurt and angry that she is beginning to make bad choices, and I don't know how to help her. I've tried to be her brother, parent, and friend, but I'm failing at all three." Wilma offered no judgment, good or bad. She just listened, and when I finished, she spoke. "Bring her over this Sunday around noon. Tell her to wear some old clothes that she doesn't mind getting dirty. You can come too if you would like and bring your little brother to do some fishing, but Mary will be spending her time with me." It wasn't easy convincing Mary to come to Wilma's. If you have spent time dealing with teenage girls, you know that they can be as stubborn as late-season ice on the lake. In the end, I resorted to threats and bribery to get her onboard, but she assured me that she would hate every minute she was there. Lane came with us as well, with the promise that we could spend the afternoon fishing off the end of Wilma's dock. By the time we arrived, Mary was sullenly glued to the passenger seat and wouldn't look up from her phone. Wilma waited a few minutes for Mary, but she stubbornly refused to leave the truck. Eventually, Wilma pulled on her rubber boots and walked over to the truck. She looked up at Mary and started speaking. "There are three things that I know are true. "The first, I've already shared with your brother. We are all artists because we are all worthy of love. But many of us lose our way. We are hurt and abandoned, and we are buried in shame. I was like that for many years. But my husband, Phillip, found me and taught me what it is to be loved. Not just the physical act; although he taught me about that as well; but the certainty that I was seen, known, and cherished. He showed me that I am an artist. You are an artist too. "Second, I am old, I have cancer, and I will die. Not today, and hopefully not tomorrow, but soon. And that is okay; we all die. I have lived a good life. And when I do, I hope that Phillip will be waiting for me with a glass of chilled white wine and his beautiful smile. My art may linger for a while once I am gone but, eventually, it too will be lost. "Third, the world is full of bastards. Your brother tells me that you and he are both bastards. I will tell you a secret that I have shared with very few people; I am a bastard too. "My mother was beautiful but poor. Her parents lost everything during the Great Depression, and she worked as a housemaid for a rich and powerful man to support her family. When she fell pregnant, he put her out on the street and refused to recognize her child, his daughter; me. Because of his rejection, I spent too many years steeped in shame and self-loathing. But eventually, I learned a hard truth; my father was a bastard by choice, while I was a bastard by birth. And those of us who are bastards by birth must never let the bastards by choice win. "Come inside when you're ready. I'm too old and it's too cold for me to stand here waiting for you." With that, Wilma turned and slowly made her way back to the house. Surprisingly, after a minute, Mary followed. When they reached the door, Wilma turned to look back at me. "It's time for you boys to go fishing. There is a warm breeze off the lake that will bring you good luck." Lane and I made our way down the hill to the dock in silence, our fishing rods, ice chest, and tackle box in hand. Unlike a seasonal dock that would be taken out of the lake each fall, Wilma's dock could be used year-round and was built with heavy timbers and steel bracing, so it could withstand the crushing force of the winter's ice. When we reached the dock, we felt the warm wind that Wilma had promised, and we chose our lures and began to cast. After a half hour of fishing, Lane broke the silence. "Do you think it's my fault?" "Do I think what's your fault, Bud?" "That mom left us. That she never came back. Do you think it's my fault?" I sighed as I thought about my answer. "No. It's not your fault. It's no one's fault, really, maybe not even hers. It's funny though, she brought some amazing people into this world. I wish she could have seen how incredible you and your sisters have turned out. But she made her choice, and that's on her, not you." Lane thought about my answer before he continued. "But you would be better off without me. Sharon would have more time to study for the scholarship she will need to get away from here. I try to be nice to Mary, to make her feel better, but I just seem to make things worse for her as well. And I see how hard you work to keep our family together. I feel like you would all be better off without me. If I weren't here, maybe Mom would come back home." I took a deep breath and tried to push down the anger that threatened to overwhelm me; anger at my mother for abandoning us, anger at myself for never being enough, and anger at a world that would leave my brother feeling like it would be better off if he didn't exist. I felt the wind off the lake as it blew across my face, drying my unshed tears before they were formed. As I was wondering how to unbreak my brother's heart, a particularly strong gust of wind blew through and Lane's fishing rod bent into a deep arc, the tip dancing wildly as a fish fought against the line. "Dad! Help;" The drag clicked furiously as the fish pulled line, as Lane fought to keep his rod tip up. I quickly set my rod aside and braced him, my hands held loosely beside his as he fought to reel in his catch. We worked together for what seemed like an eternity before he finally fought his fish to the side of the dock. I grabbed the net and saw that he had hooked a steelhead trout that was easily two feet long and must have weighed at least eight pounds if not more. It was a wonder the drag held steady, and his line didn't break during the fight. As I scooped up his catch, the steelhead's silver sides shimmered like polished chrome in the fading light, and it was so big that it took up over half the ice chest I had brought along to store our catch. Lane was flushed with excitement at landing such an impressive fish, and I was so proud of him that my heart almost ached. "Nice work, Son." He just looked up at me for a moment before throwing his arms around me in a hug. In the time since our mother left, he had never called me by anything other than my name. I never tried to be his dad; I didn't think I was qualified, but I guess that all of us need someone in our lives who will love us without conditions or end. "Never think that you're a burden on me or the family. Maybe you need a bit more from us right now than you can give back, but that's alright. Because sixty years from now, when I am old and can't wipe my ass anymore, you are going to be paying me back in spades, alright?" With that, we went back to fishing in companionable silence. I pulled in a few smaller ones, but nothing to match Lane's steelhead. A few hours later, the wind had picked up and it was getting colder, so we packed up our equipment and made our way back toward the house. Halfway down the dock, however, a huge gust of wind swept through, and I heard a cry followed by a loud splash. Turning back, I saw that Lane's foot had slipped through a broken slat, and he had fallen off the dock. Without thinking, I dropped the ice box and rods and jumped into the water to help him. When I got him to shore, he couldn't put any weight on his ankle, and any efforts to do so were met with cries of pain. I quickly collected our discarded fishing gear and set it to one side, before helping him to slowly make his way back up the hill. The November chill quickly took hold of us as we walked, plastering our damp clothing to our skin, and we were shivering uncontrollably by the time we reached the house. I knocked but it took a minute for Wilma and Mary to come out from the studio at the back of the house. "I am sorry to cut things short, but Lane had an accident down at the dock and he sprained or maybe even broke his ankle. I am going to have to take him to the hospital in Petoskey to get it looked at before it swells up any further." Wilma looked at me with concern. "Maybe you should hold off at least for a little while. My granddaughter, Erin, the pediatrician, is coming for dinner tonight and should be here any minute. Why don't we let her take a look at it before you head into town? And let's get you out of those clothes; you must be freezing. I still have some of Phillip's things in the closet that might fit you." A few minutes later, I had changed into a pair of comfortable but slightly musty-smelling pants, with a warm sweater over a well-worn collared shirt. I was both taller and wider than Phillip had been, at least in the twilight of his years, so the pants were a bit short, while the sweater was tight across my shoulders. While I changed, Mary and Wilma had set Lane up on the couch with his ankle elevated on some pillows. I helped him change out of his wet clothing and into an old sweatshirt and shorts that fit over his swollen ankle. Once Lane was settled, Wilma and I talked quietly in the kitchen. "It's getting late, and you must be getting hungry, but I don't think I have enough to feed everyone." I thought for a moment. "We may be in luck. Lane caught the biggest steelhead I have ever seen earlier this afternoon, but I left it down by the dock after the accident. If you have a few potatoes and maybe a veg or two, I am sure I can whip something up that would feed us all." Wilma looked at me with a sly smile. "He cooks, he plumbs, and he cares for his family, all while cutting a dashing figure in my late husband's favorite sweater. You, Mr. Crawford, are a catch." "I am not sure about that, Wilma," I replied with a laugh, "But either way, this catch had better go and get our earlier catch, so I can get started on dinner." It took me almost half an hour to collect our fishing gear and bring it back up to the truck. By the time I was done, an older SUV was parked behind my truck, which meant that Erin had arrived. After I loaded the gear, I used the fishing knife and stained plastic cutting board that I kept in a bin under the back seat to clean and filet the steelhead before heading inside. From the doorway, I could see a head of sandy-blonde hair pulled back into a loose ponytail sticking up from the far side of the couch, and I heard a calm and melodic voice talking to Lane while Wilma and Mary looked on. I was so lost in that voice that I almost jumped when the latch on the door caught behind me. The head of sandy-blonde hair looked up at the sound, revealing a pair of amber, almost golden eyes. "You must be the father," said that same melodic voice, as those eyes bore their way into my soul. "It's Davis Crawford, and I'm the older brother." "Erin Anderson, nice to meet you. Can you get hold of your parents? We might need to take Lane to the hospital for some X-rays." "No," I replied more harshly than I intended. "No," I tried again, more gently but with an edge to my voice. "Our parents aren't around; I am as close as you're going to get. I am Lane's legal guardian if that helps." There was a slight pause as her amber eyes shifted from surprise to curiosity. "That helps a lot. Why don't you give me 15 minutes or so to take a look at this brave dude's ankle, then we can talk over some options, once I have a better sense of what's going on." "That okay with you, Bud?" I asked as I walked over to the couch. "Yeah, that should be fine," he replied, but his eyes were wide, and his cheeks were flushed. For a moment, I was worried that he might be running a fever, but then I got my first look at Erin, and I understood. Maybe she wasn't classically beautiful like a movie star or swimsuit model, but she was lean and fit, and from what I could see, had more than enough curves in all the right places. It was her face, however, that captured me. She had delicate features accentuated by her high cheekbones, and there was a softness to her expression that spoke of empathy and kindness. Her eyes, though intense, had a warmth that put me instantly at ease. I realized much too late that I had been staring at Erin for an uncomfortably long time while holding the bag of steelhead filets out like some kind of sacrificial offering. While I stood frozen, the look in Erin's beautiful eyes had shifted from curiosity to amusement; I would assume at the fish-carrying simpleton standing in front of her. "Thanks, Dr. Anderson; err, Erin. I appreciate your taking a look at him and; I am going to go cook us up some fish before I make an even bigger ass of myself." Wilma joined me in the kitchen, while Erin continued to assess Lane's injured ankle. We spent the next few minutes dicing the potatoes and veggies and tossing them with some olive oil, salt, and pepper before sprinkling the filets of steelhead with a mixture of herbs. I topped the fish with some slices of a less-than-fresh, but still edible, lemon I found in the fridge, before putting the whole thing in the oven. To be continued in part 2. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts, for Literotica.

Today I'm reviewing Deadly Ever After by Brittany Johnson — a sinister take on the classic fairytale vibe where love, danger, and dark secrets collide. Trapped in a world between life and death two princesses must traverse the dangers,m and find their inner strength if they plan on. surviving their return and solving one princesses murder. If you like morally gray characters, dark romantic plots, and fairytales turned deadly, this one delivers tension, shock value, and emotional bite all the way through.✨ Tune in for a spoiler-free breakdown — what worked, what gut-punched, and why this thriller-meets-romance is worth picking up. Follow on Spotify & subscribe on YouTube for more dark romance and twisty book reviews every week.#DeadlyEverAfter #BrittanyJohnson #DarkRomance #PsychologicalThriller #FairytaleRetelling #BookReviewPodcast #BookTube #SpotifyPodcasts #RomanticSuspense

Ready to meet your most expansive self? One of my favorite parts of the Powerhouse Women Event every year is bringing women from our community on stage who are making quantum leap level growth in their lives and businesses. This year I'm joined by Relle Dixon, Ciara Schewe, Brittany Johnson, and Annamarie Green to give a peek behind the curtain at what expansion really looks like and what it takes to unlock your next big upgrade. We reflect on how much has changed since their first event versus who they are today, including the things they needed to shed and let go of in order to evolve into the versions we see on stage now. They also share how motherhood has shaped their businesses, their lives, and how they knew it was the right time to invest in themselves. If you feel the pull to step into your higher self but don't know where to start, this is your invitation to go all in.   HIGHLIGHTS 00:00 Introducing the 2025 Women to Watch Panel! 07:00 Who were you at your first event versus who you are now? 17:00 What we needed to let go of in order to step into what's next. 26:30 How has your motherhood journey shaped who you are today? 38:20 How to know when it's the right time to invest in yourself. 49:15 What is the biggest throughline of expansion?   RESOURCES + LINKS Powerhouse Women is a COMMUNITY and YOU are part of it! Take a screenshot of this episode and tag us on Instagram so we can keep the conversation going and create more of the episodes you need!    FOLLOW Powerhouse Women: @powerhouse_women Lindsey: @lindseymarieofficial Visit the Powerhouse Women website: powerhousewomen.co Join the PW Community Facebook Group: facebook.com/groups/powerhousewomencommunity Join the waitlist for the 2026 Powerhouse Women Event: powerhousewomen.co/newsletter Relle Dixon: @bewellwith_relle Ciara Schewe: @ciaraschewe Brittny Johnson: @tradesofbrit Annamarie Green: @annamariefgreen

On today's show, we learn about The League of Women Voters of Arkansas' latest edition of its book, "Government in Arkansas." Also, a conversation with a local court reporter. Plus, The Medium's Brittany Johnson tells us how we can spend our weekend.

If you crunched the asteroid belt into one object, would it make a planet? Neil deGrasse Tyson and cohost Chuck Nice answer fan questions about the shape of the universe, the origin of matter, the Casimir Force, pizza toppings, and more!NOTE: StarTalk+ Patrons can listen to this entire episode commercial-free here:https://startalkmedia.com/show/cosmic-queries-flat-universe/Thanks to our Patrons Keith Edwards James Murphy, River Harlan, Dashing Design Diva, Zach Ross, Federico Varano, Mark Ballard, Andres Franco-Osorio, Pascal, Emmanuel Cooper, Silvester Dimitrov, Ryan Eldridge, Ricky Isbell, David Hall, Angela Johnson, Demetrius Goosbey II, Morris Griffing, Cole Carter, Adam Huber, J B, Don Bailey, Tom Reed, Aaron Palmer, Odin Drengr, Demba Mdoye, Clay Mattson, Jason aka asmrpeople, Sage, Angel Garcia, Richard Swenson, Rich Elkerton, Kirby Sorensen, Mike Kakeeh, Kodi, John Kremer, Dwayne Boychuk, Jordan Burnam, Brittany Johnson, Aidan M, jared higbee, Theo Chambers, Levi Furber, Kelly, Hubert Dąbrowski, Julio Cataño, StellarScout, Margot Lane, Joudi Saadeh, David Foy, Jacob Sopko, Dell Rabinowitz, and Dominic Strong for supporting us this week. Subscribe to SiriusXM Podcasts+ to listen to new episodes of StarTalk Radio ad-free and a whole week early.Start a free trial now on Apple Podcasts or by visiting siriusxm.com/podcastsplus.

About the Show:"We want to provide resources and point folks in the right direction so that they can spend more energy on their work." - Brittany JohnsonIn this episode of I am Northwest Arkansas®, host Randy Wilburn dives deep into the vibrant world of creativity in Northwest Arkansas with Kelsey Howard, Executive Director of Creative Arkansas Community Hub & Exchange (CACHE), and Brittany Johnson, Director of Communications. They explore what makes this region a hub for artistic expression and collaboration, discussing CACHE's mission to uplift local artists and foster a sustainable creative economy.Kelsey and Brittany share insights on the various initiatives CACHE has implemented, including the Creative Exchange Fund and the importance of community engagement through events like Social Hour and Table Talks. They highlight the challenges and triumphs of the creative community, especially in the wake of the pandemic, and emphasize the need for collaboration among artists, non-profits, and local businesses.Join us as we uncover how CACHE is shaping the local arts scene, the resources available for artists, and how you can get involved in the thriving creative ecosystem of Northwest Arkansas. This episode is a must-listen for anyone passionate about the arts, community development, and making meaningful connections.Key Takeaways:Community Collaboration: CACHE facilitates connections among artists, businesses, and cultural organizations to strengthen the local creative economy.Access to Resources: Artists can find support through workshops, grants, and networking opportunities offered by CACHE.Advocacy for the Arts: CACHE is committed to advocating for local artists and ensuring they receive fair compensation and recognition.Engagement in the Arts: Participation in local events and initiatives is crucial for artists to build connections and thrive in the community.Creating a Sustainable Future: CACHE aims to foster a sustainable creative economy that benefits all members of the community.All this and more on this episode of the I am Northwest Arkansas podcast.Important Links and Mentions on the Show*Email Kelsey HowardEmail Brittany JohnsonWebsite CACHECACHE on FacebookCACHE on InstagramOZcast TrailerPrevious Episode with OZcastTune in to KUAF 91.3 FM to listen to the I am Northwest Arkansas® podcast on Ozarks at Large every Tuesday at 12 Noon and 7 PM CST. And, check us out on their

About the Show:"Don't be afraid to make a mistake. Nine times out of ten, people will help you along and give you a lot of grace."Brittany JohnsonIn this episode of I am Northwest Arkansas®, host Randy Wilburn sits down with Brittany Johnson, the visionary behind Ambivert Books, an independent bookstore dedicated to Spanish language literature in Springdale. Brittany shares her inspiring journey of launching this unique venture, the challenges of operating in a digital age dominated by major retailers, and her passion for promoting literature originally written in Spanish.As a native Houstonian who has made Northwest Arkansas her home for nearly a decade, Brittany reflects on her experiences and how they shaped her desire to create a space that celebrates diverse voices and stories. The conversation delves into the importance of community, the joy of discovering literature, and how Ambivert Books aims to fill a significant gap in the local market.Join us as we explore Brittany's insights on the ambivert concept and how it relates to her bookstore's mission, as well as the excitement surrounding the upcoming grand opening of Casa Magnolia, where her bookstore will reside. This episode is a must-listen for anyone interested in entrepreneurship, community engagement, and the power of literature.Key Takeaways:Unique Niche: Ambivert Books focuses on Spanish language literature, providing access to works often overlooked in mainstream bookstores.Community Collaboration: The partnership with Casa Magnolia showcases the spirit of cooperation among local businesses to enhance cultural offerings in Springdale.Language and Connection: Brittany emphasizes the importance of reading in one's native language and how it fosters deeper connections to culture and identity.Encouragement for Language Learners: Brittany shares her journey in language acquisition and offers valuable tips for those looking to learn Spanish.Upcoming Events: Stay tuned for exciting programming, including bilingual book clubs and community events at Ambivert Books.All this and more on this episode of the I am Northwest Arkansas podcast.Important Links and Mentions on the Show*Email Brittany JohnsonWebsite Ambivert BooksAmbivert Books on InstagramTo celebrate the grand opening of Casa Mongolia join us for a Storytime onFebruary 22, 202510 amCasa Magnolia414 Holcomb St., SpringdaleTune in to KUAF 91.3 FM to listen to the I am Northwest Arkansas® podcast on Ozarks at Large every Tuesday at 12 Noon and 7 PM CST. And, check us out on their podcast as well. This episode is sponsored by*HootOwl Legal Ver 2 Northwest Arkansas Council - "Life Works...

In this enlightening episode, we delve into the transformative world of Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR) therapy, specifically focusing on its impact and benefits for Black women. Join us as we explore how EMDR can be a powerful tool for healing trauma, navigating racial stress, and fostering resilience.Our guest, a seasoned EMDR therapist, Brittany Johnson, LMHC, shares invaluable insights into how this therapeutic approach works, its effectiveness in addressing complex trauma, and the unique ways it can be tailored to meet the needs of Black women. We discuss the cultural considerations and barriers that might affect therapy and how EMDR can be integrated with culturally responsive practices to support emotional well-being.Whether you're curious about EMDR, seeking healing, or simply interested in understanding more about mental health care for Black women, this episode offers a rich and empowering conversation. Tune in to discover how this innovative therapy can be a beacon of hope and healing in the journey toward mental wellness.ResourcesWhat Is EMDR Therapy?Antiracism ResourcesFocal Point BlogEMDRIA Library EMDRIA Practice ResourcesEMDRIA's Find an EMDR Therapist Directory lists more than 16,000 EMDR therapists.Follow @EMDRIA on X,  @EMDR_IA on Instagram, Facebook or subscribe to our YouTube Channel.EMDRIA FoundationMusical soundtrack, Acoustic Motivation 11290, supplied royalty-free by Pixabay.Produced by Kim Howard, CAELearn more about EMDR therapy at www.emdria.org.

This podcast episode of 'Coping' discusses election anxiety and anticipatory coping strategies. Hosts Kevin and Kathy explore four types of anticipatory coping: problem analysis, plan rehearsal, stagnant deliberation, and outcome fantasy. They discuss their personal experiences with political engagement and share insights on managing election-related stress. The episode is timed to coincide with an upcoming general election. The hosts reference a research study on combating election stress and its impact on daily physical health. They emphasize the importance of engagement, planning, and avoiding negative coping mechanisms. The episode concludes with a blessing for Election Day by Kate Bowler. Highlights Introduction to Election Anxiety Kevin and Kathy introduce the episode, explaining its early release due to an upcoming general election on Tuesday. Kathy notes the high tension surrounding the election, regardless of political affiliation. Kevin mentions that election anxiety is a real phenomenon. Anticipatory Coping Strategies The hosts introduce the concept of four types of anticipatory coping strategies for managing election-related stress. Kathy asks Kevin about his family's approach to discussing world events, to which Kevin responds that his family didn't engage much in political discussions. In contrast, Kathy shares that her family, with her father being a political science professor, was highly engaged in political discussions nightly. Research Study on Election Stress Kevin introduces a research article titled 'Combating Election Stress, Anticipatory Coping, and Daily Self-Reported Physical Health' by Brittany Johnson and Siobhan Newpert. Kathy explains that the study, conducted during the 2018 midterm elections with 140 respondents, aimed to measure the effect of anticipatory coping strategies on anxiety levels. Problem Analysis as a Coping Strategy Kevin explains the first anticipatory coping strategy: problem analysis. This involves actively contemplating the antecedents and meaning of future stressful situations without trying to solve the problem. Kathy shares her experience using this strategy, including spending over two hours researching propositions for the California election. Plan Rehearsal as a Coping Strategy Kevin introduces plan rehearsal as the second coping strategy, which involves envisioning steps to achieve a desired outcome. He gives examples related to voting plans. Kathy emphasizes the importance of having a plan to reduce anxiety and shares her experience helping her sons in another state plan their voting process over four weeks. Negative Coping Strategies: Stagnant Deliberation and Outcome Fantasy The hosts discuss two negative coping strategies. Kathy explains stagnant deliberation as dwelling repetitively on a problem without progress. Kevin likens it to rumination. For outcome fantasy, Kevin describes it as daydreaming about desired outcomes while ignoring problem-solving details. Kathy notes that she's observed this more commonly among female students and emphasizes the importance of recognizing and addressing this tendency. Conclusion and Election Day Blessing Kevin summarizes the four coping strategies and encourages listeners to engage in problem analysis and plan rehearsal while avoiding negative strategies. Kathy emphasizes the importance of being involved and voting. The episode concludes with a blessing for Election Day by Kate Bowler, focusing on seeking God's guidance and mercy during the election process.

Summary En este episodio de Querido Emprendedor, conversamos con Brittany Yvonne Johnson, fundadora de Ambivert Books, un emprendimiento dedicado a los libros, enfocado en la comunidad hispanohablante. Durante la charla, Brittany nos comparte su experiencia como emprendedora, los retos de lanzar un negocio, y su historia personal. Además, hablamos de cómo su pasión por la literatura y la conexión comunitaria han impulsado sus proyectos, y de qué manera ha logrado crear espacios para que personas de diferentes orígenes se conecten.   Show Notes (00:06) Welcome & introduction. (00:29) New name. (00:55) Brittany's story. (01:58) NWA adventure. (04:11) Love of art. (06:22) International program. (13:38) How it started. (18:06) A shared problem. (19:27) Mom knows best. (21:48) Where to find you. (22:25) Advice from the past.   Links Ignacio Balderrama Claudia Scott Startup Junkie Kiva Northwest Arkansas Brittany Johnson Ambivert Books

STN EXPO Reno was packed with instruction, training, and networking. Hear what attendees found most useful. Brittany Johnson, transportation director for Navarro Independent School District in Texas, joins us to discuss operations and safety technology. Read more about STN EXPO.

In this episode of the Professor Adolfo Neto podcast, Professor Adolfo Neto interviews Brittany Johnson-Matthews, an Assistant Professor in the Department of Computer Science at George Mason University. Brittany, who directs the INSPIRED Lab, shares insights from her research in Software Engineering. The interview begins with Brittany discussing her academic journey, including her Bachelor's degree in Computer Science from the College of Charleston and her PhD from North Carolina State University. She explains what motivated her to pursue a career in academia over industry. The conversation then shifts to the topic of Ethics in Software Engineering. Brittany defines ethics and provides examples of unethical practices in software development. She emphasizes the responsibility of software engineers to ensure their algorithms do not perpetuate bias or discrimination and offers advice on how to develop ethically minded software. In addition to her work on ethics, Brittany briefly discusses other research topics she explores and what prospective PhD students can expect when working with her. The episode concludes with Brittany sharing how she stays updated in her field through various resources like books, blogs, podcasts, and academic papers. Professor Adolfo Neto thanks Brittany for her valuable insights and wraps up the session by expressing gratitude to the listeners. Dr. Brittany Johnson-Matthews ⁠https://cs.gmu.edu/~johnsonb/ ⁠ ELXPRO is an Elixir course whose creator, Gustavo Oliveira, I had the pleasure of interviewing in a previous episode ( ⁠⁠⁠https://youtu.be/bTUVIXg3Z28⁠ ⁠ ).  If you're curious and ready to take your Elixir skills to the next level, check out my affiliate link to ELXPRO ⁠⁠⁠https://go.hotmart.com/F73840549I⁠  Your exploration not only opens doors to ELXPRO but also supports the future of this podcast. Find me on Linkedin ⁠⁠⁠https://www.linkedin.com/in/adolfont⁠  Find this podcast on audio platforms at ⁠⁠⁠https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/adolfont⁠  Find this podcast on YouTube at ⁠⁠⁠https://www.youtube.com/@elixiradolfont⁠ --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/adolfont/message

In this teaching by Brittany Johnson the Missio family was encouraged, inspired, and equipped to continue being formed by God, together, for the sake of others. Permalink

År 2019 laddas ett klipp i sociala medier med ett märkligt innehåll. Videon får stor spridning och ljudet används i nya klipp som skapar en snöbollseffekt. Ljudet kommer från en låt av en artist, ingen riktigt har hört talats om. Men detta klipp är början på något som kommer spåra ut. Internet kommer chockas av kontroversiella klipp, handlingar och världen kommer se denna okända artist med helt nya ögon. Det här är berättelsen om en kvinna som dök upp på internet, skapade stora häpnadsväckande kontroverser om sig själv, influencers och sin bebis. Detta är fallet Lovely Peaches, Brittany Johnson.----------För att hoppa över introt om barnet Cora: 02:27 till 03:00.För att hoppa över detaljer om barnet Cora: 19:36 till 20:33.För att hoppa över detaljer om barnet Cora: 21:11 till 24:20.----------Ljudklipp kommer från Youtubekanalerna: lovely peach, Munch Tea, BarbieDrawl, autumne, KeysAdvice, WilloWisp & Mori. Ljud från TikTok (sista klippet): @ethanwhitetv.----------Vill ni stödja podden kan ni göra det här: https://paypal.me/crimepodden - Tack!

Music: Walking in Peace - Alex Jean Kata Danse - Daarkskiinn Pami - DJ Tunez @Awodeli and @nouscreations on Instagram @nouscreations on TikTok --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/fiyinfoluwa/message

In today's episode, we have with us none other than Queen Brittany (@Lovebstyle) to discuss all things social media and how to remain true to your authentic self online. Brittany is an absolute style babe, influencer, fashion lover, working mom and wife - she does it all! As an influencer, we are so lucky to have her share more about finding the balance in this crazy social media world we live in, how to maintain one's integrity around brand sponsorships without getting distracted by the next shiny object, how to set boundaries with your audience and Brittany leaves us with valuable tips for starting off as an influencer.  Make sure to follow Brittany Johnson and her incredible content on Instagram: @Lovebstyle This is how you can support us (we appreciate you all!) - Make sure you're subscribed to the Podcast (click "follow" on the podcast page) - Rate/review the podcast on Apple - Follow on Spotify Follow @whereisthelinepod on Instagram: As we continue to create more content, we'd love to hear from you! How do these topics resonate? What topics would you like us to cover next? Email us: whereisthelinepod@gmail.com Twitter: @whereistheline

In tonight's episode of Crystal's Nightcap I got an award at work, Zara Larsson and Brittany Johnson from “Wicked” join the show, I saw Michael B. Jordan, Carl kicked me out of the club, and MORE!

This week we are continuing our Power of Healing Series and I am super excited to welcome Brittany Johnson to the room.   Brittany Johnson is a Philadelphia-based entrepreneur, educator, consultant, and poet who champions passion, confidence, and joy. Brittany is the CEO and Founder of SoLoveSoul, LLC a community that empowers Black and Brown women across the country through workshops and discussions related to healing and self-love. Her business has quickly grown and evolved into her SOULpreneur Business Consulting Empire. Her SOULpreneur work centers on providing strategic and innovative services to entrepreneurs so that they thrive in their passions and manifest their goals. Brittany has built a community of clients across various industries and various places across the country. Her clients are authentic, innovative, and inspiring. From Interior Designers to Pro Athletes, from Therapists to Artists, from Writers to Talk Show Hosts, her empire continues to grow!Brittany is also a Consulting Partner for Innovageous, an education consulting company that provides innovative development and resources for K-12 schools across the country. In October 2021 she published her first poetry collection titled Loving Eve. Brittany received her bachelor's degree at The University of Virginia and her master's degree at The University of Pennsylvania.Brittany's Information:Instagram: @solovesoul: https://www.instagram.com/solovesoul/Facebook: @SoLoveSoulAdditional Information:  https://linktr.ee/SoLoveSoulBook: Loving Eve Amazon LinkBehind Within Her Podcast Information:Latest episode:The Feelings Are Real: https://www.buzzsprout.com/2028993/episodes/11693139 I would love for you to reach out and share your feedback on this week's episode or topics that you would like to hear more about.Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/berlinawashington/Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/behindwithinherpodcast/

Pointing the finger at someone else is the easy part. Accepting responsibility for your short comings and taking ownership for the outcomes of your actions is the tough part. No wonder so many women self sabotage their relationships, careers, and more. Tune in for tonight's discussion with Mental Health Counselor, Brittany Johnson.

Brittany is the author of the southern gothic novel "Mississippi Blue," and has just released a novelette of dark romance entitled "Maneater."https://instagram.com/noctiscriptor?igshid=YmMyMTA2M2Y=Mississippi Blue https://a.co/d/beS1Hd9MANEATER: a novelette https://a.co/d/aTGbSyl

This is episode three of our series on Faith, Work, Mercy and Justice. How do we understand the God of mercy and justice at work in the world? What does it mean to be redeemed and set apart to join him in that work? How do we steward vocational power for the marginalized? In Partnership with The Global Faith and Work Initiative at Redeemer City to City, we are sharing six stories of women and men who encountered brokenness in their industry and chose to creatively pursue mercy and justice right where they found themselves. In this episode, Teena interviews Brittany Johnson and Noel D'Avy about how healing, faith, work, mercy, and justice intersect in the mental health space. Brittany and Noel met at a small church plant in downtown Mesa and were shocked to find out they were both counselors and art therapists. Their friendship grew quickly as they spent many early mornings over coffee dreaming about more ways to help others in therapy. The vision for The Well was born out of love for God, love for people, and love for their city. Shownotes https://thewellmesa.com/ www.globalfaithandwork.com

Ep.003: Sometimes it takes losing yourself to know who you truly are and was all along. That was the case for this week's guest, Austin-based artist and muralist Brittany Johnson, aka.  @brittpaintsalot. From the moment they met in high school, Stefani saw Britt as a natural artist. Whether it was through a paintbrush, pencils, makeup or the piano, something beautiful was on the other side of Britt's touch. These days Britt gets commissioned to paint legends like Loretta Lynn and partner with companies like Bumble but it took a few detours as a New York City preschool teacher to occupational therapist in Florida to get there. In 2016 she could no longer ignore her soul's pull to move to Austin. That leap of faith led Britt to her artist community, partner and sweetest pup (@charliefluffydog), stoking her creativity and welcoming her home to her True Artist Self. This conversation is a sweet mix of nostalgia and vulnerability as Britt shares the highs and lows of finding her way back “home”. We also talk about: Pivotal moments that led her away from and back to artFeeling out of alignment and her move to AustinHow she transitioned from part time occupational therapist to going all in as a muralist during the pandemicThe spirituality of being a creativeMaintaining confidence and getting her art noticedThe importance of community and the people we surround ourselves withHer decision to go (mostly) sober it impactHer vision for the future How she determines her rates and stands in her worthRead Britt's full bio in the show notes at https://www.stefanimccullah.com/podcastConnect with Britt!Instagram: @brittpaintsalot (and her dog) @charliefluffydogCommission her work: https://brittpaintsalot.com/Be a part of the community @MovementsoulcollectivepodConnect with StefaniInstagram: @stefani_mccullah

Welcome to Season 5 of The Eavesdrop! This month we are celebrating mental wellness in honor of Mental Health Awareness Month. This week join us as we start the commemoration off with a conversation about Self-Love and Self-Care with Brittany Johnson, CEO and Founder of So Love Soul! Join us as we talk about what self-love and self-care is, what it looks like, the importance of it, and how to maintain self-care and self-love while we are in relationships with others. Show Mentions Brittany Johnson: IG @Solovesoul The Well Done Life Podcast with Pamela Davis: IG @TheWelldonelifepodcast The Eavesdrop Podcast: IG @Therealeavesdrop_podcast The Eavesdrop Podcast Website: www.theeavesdroppodcast.com

In this week's episode we have a special guest, Brittany Johnson, otherwise known as @Venus_Rising_ on Instagram. She is an Evolutionary Astrologer, Womb Healer and Doula and is here with us today to discuss womb healing, feminine healing and beyond. We discuss the ways in which our lives and emotions influence our wombs and the physical co-creations or manifestations that occur from these spaces. We look at the ways in which organic healing can occur through natural modalities, touch on the 4 Phases of our Moon Cycles and even venture into natural births vs. hospital births. This conversation is filled to the brim with a microcosm and macrocosm of innerstanding of what it means to be a woman, and the powers that we hold within us that have the abilities to co-create life and change the ways in which we live, thrive and expand in this world with joy and ease. GO BEYOND Brittany's Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/venus_rising_/?hl=en Brittany's Website: https://www.britt-johnson.com ALL ABOUT ME My Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/pbbunny97yt/ DIVINITY Membership: https://shop.pbastrology.com/collections/divinity-the-membership MAGIK Breathwork and Hypnosis | Full Moon Circle: https://www.eventbrite.com/e/magik-breathwork-and-hypnosis-full-moon-circle-tickets-310100006467 THE UPLEVEL: MASTERCLASS BUNDLE: https://polinaberegova.mykajabi.com/theuplevel Your Inner Kingdom Self-Study Course (Polarity & Magnetism): https://polinaberegova.mykajabi.com/magnetic Your 2 Week Abundance Quantum Leap Self-Study Course: https://polinaberegova.mykajabi.com/abundance Courses, Retreats and Masterclasses HERE: https://polinaberegova.mykajabi.com/store My Website: PolinaBeregova.com 1-1 Coaching with Me: https://shop.pbastrology.com/collections/1-1-with-me Connect with you again soon, Angel... Wishing you unlimited abundance, Polina

Meet the Johnsons. We're honored to welcome Brittany and Wendell Johnson on PTX a Podcast. These two always bring the laughs and good vibes. They are true entrepreneurs and give their whole hearts to all they do. Here's a bit of their story with our host, Broadway!

The Benefits of Group TherapyIt's easy to have a  limited idea of what therapy looks like, but today's episode is a welcome reminder that there are many forms of therapy to choose from. Group therapy, for instance, offers a variety of benefits traditional one-on-one therapy can't. Joining Dr. Fedrick for this episode of Calm, Cool and Connected is Brittany Johnson, LPC, from the Western Tidewater Community Services Board. Brittany is the Program Director for the State Opioid Response program where she oversees group sessions. She is here to talk to Dr. Fedrick about the benefits of her work in the program as well as the unique benefits of group therapy. Key Takeaways from Liz's chat with Brittany:• Hear about the important work happening within the SOR program• Learn what group therapy is and how it looks during the pandemic• Hear how group therapy differs from one-on-one sessions• Find out how open groups and closed groups differ• Learn how to decide whether group therapy is right for you or notAll of this and more, on this episode of Calm, Cool and Connected.Learn more about Western Tidewater Community Services: wtcsb.orgFor more information on Dr. Elizabeth Fedrick, visit her website: evolvecounselingaz.comConnect with Dr, Fedrick on Instagram: @drelizabethfedrickWatch the video interview hereHave a question you'd like answered on the show? Leave us a voicemail here: https://www.speakpipe.com/CalmCoolConnectedFor more great Calm, Cool and Connected content, don't forget to subscribe to the podcast on Apple Podcasts, Google Podcasts, Overcast, Spotify, and all the popular podcasting platforms. (RSS)  https://3cstvshow.buzzsprout.comAlready subscribed? Please take a moment to rate and review the podcast so that we can reach as many people that need the help as we can: https://3cstvshow.buzzsprout.com DISCLAIMER: THE CONSULTATIONS OR INTERACTIONS OFFERED ARE NOT MENTAL HEALTH THERAPY. THE CONSULTATION IS FOR EDUCATIONAL PURPOSES ONLY AND NOT STRUCTURED IN A WAY TO PROVIDE MENTAL HEALTH COUNSELING/PSYCHOTHERAPY/THERAPY/ DIAGNOSING OF ANY KIND. YOU UNDERSTAND THAT CALM COOL AND CONNECTED IS NOT PROVIDING INFORMATION AS YOUR TREATING MENTAL HEALTH COUNSELOR, PHYSICIAN, ATTORNEY, LEGAL COUNSEL, EMPLOYER, MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL. We offer no guarantees or promise of results from event nor assume liability for any information provided. 

We're back with the October issue of JPS article highlights. This time we're talking to JPS Editor Dr. Paul Tam and authors Dr. Brittany Johnson, Dr. Nigel Hall, Dr. Richard Wood, and Dr. Giacomo Esposito. Hosts: Ellen Encisco & Rod Gerardo Articles: What Happens after the Hospital? An Analysis of Longitudinal Care Needs in Children Treated for Child Physical Abuse. https://www.jpedsurg.org/article/S0022-3468(21)00428-0/fulltext Surgical necrotizing enterocolitis: Association between surgical indication, timing, and outcomes. https://www.jpedsurg.org/article/S0022-3468(21)00368-7/fulltext One-year impact of a bowel management program in treating fecal incontinence in patients with anorectal malformations https://www.jpedsurg.org/article/S0022-3468(21)00369-9/fulltext Predictive value of spinal bone anomalies for spinal cord abnormalities in patients with anorectal malformations https://www.jpedsurg.org/article/S0022-3468(21)00387-0/fulltext

This week on Let's Talk Sis:I sit down and talk with my good sis Brittany Johnson, owner Brit's Sweets and Treats as well as Savy Pics and Flicks. We discuss her journey being a full time  entrepreneur and the sacrifices that it truly takes. We also share our opinions on Stevie J in faith Evans, do you think a man can change for you? You also get to hear who we think is responsible for this whole AstroWorld craziness what do you think? I'm always open to hear other opinions so, Let's Talk Sis! 

This week's episode of The Mental Matchup features Brittnay Todd, who is the owner and clinical director of B Balanced Counseling & Wellness. Brittany attended the University of Florida where she achieved her bachelor's degree in Criminology and Psychology, while competing as a swimmer. Brittany was an Olympic Trial swimmer in 2000 and 2004 and competed in NCAA's, but dealt with a variety of mental health challenges during her swimming career including eating disorders, depression, and bipolar disorder. When her career ended due to a shoulder injury, she dealt with the difficulties of losing her identity as an athlete. As a former elite athlete, and someone who was involved in sport from a very early age, Brittany continues to be inspired by the connection of the body and mind in her practice as a psychotherapist. In 2017 Brittany graduated from Walden University with master's level degrees in both Clinical Psychology and Clinical Counseling to establish a private counseling practice. Through Brittany's own personal experiences in her mental health struggles, as well as her education, she is able to provide incredibly diverse and valuable information during this episode.

This week's episode of The Mental Matchup features Brittnay Todd, who is the owner and clinical director of B Balanced Counseling & Wellness. Brittany attended the University of Florida where she achieved her bachelor's degree in Criminology and Psychology, while competing as a swimmer. Brittany was an Olympic Trial swimmer in 2000 and 2004 and competed in NCAA's, but dealt with a variety of mental health challenges during her swimming career including eating disorders, depression, and bipolar disorder. When her career ended due to a shoulder injury, she dealt with the difficulties of losing her identity as an athlete. As a former elite athlete, and someone who was involved in sport from a very early age, Brittany continues to be inspired by the connection of the body and mind in her practice as a psychotherapist. In 2017 Brittany graduated from Walden University with master's level degrees in both Clinical Psychology and Clinical Counseling to establish a private counseling practice. Through Brittany's own personal experiences in her mental health struggles, as well as her education, she is able to provide incredibly diverse and valuable information during this episode.

Wassup #Activators! On this episode, we are continuing the theme of being I-N-T-E-N-T-I-O-N-A-L with our wellness. I was joined by Brittany Johnson who is a Black licensed mental health therapist, and let me tell you she fed my SOUL as always. We talked about the importance of being intentional about prioritizing taking care of ourselves and how doing so affects how we show up in the world. Brittany specializes in spirituality, self-esteem, coping skills, family conflict, codependency, women's issues, career counseling, stress management, anxiety + depression, and relationship challenges. If you would like more information about Britt+Co and the services that Brittany offers, please visit thecwcounseling.com and book a FREE consultation with her.in You can also follow her on Instagram @Brittanyinc.co. Dr. Rheeda Walker's book: The Unapologetic Guide to Black Mental Health: Navigate an Unequal System, Learn Tools for Emotional Wellness, and Get the Help You Deserve I truly enjoyed having Brittany on this episode, and I know you will too. Make sure you tune in and learn some new ways to improve your wellness. Stay activated, Mic

The dry fall and winter air can do a number on our skin. Between cracked skin, rashes and eczema flare-ups, knowing the best ways to alleviate skin problems can offer your family some much needed relief. Discover the best ways to support your skin from licensed esthetician Brittany Johnson at Gladskin. She shares more about how to handle eczema flare-ups, ways to prevent dry fall skin, and the best way to care for your kid's skin at any age.

In episode 80, Brittany Johnson, Associate Professor at Temple University, joins us. Specifically Brittany will be looking at: Importance of nutrition for firefighters Job demands Lessons for athletes Case study: nutrition guide for firefighters About Brittany "Brittany is an Associate Professor in the Department of Kinesiology at Temple University. As a Registered Dietitian and Certified Specialist in Sports Dietetics, Johnson's primary focus is understanding how food fuels athletes for optimizing health and enhancing performance. She's predominantly worked with firefighters on improving physical fitness and reducing musculoskeletal injuries through dietary interventions." Twitter: @dietitianprof Instagram: @dietitianprof FREE 7d COACH ACADEMY TRIAL SIGN UP NOW: https://bit.ly/sfsepisode80 ​ Learn Quicker & More Effectively, Freeing Up Time To Spend With Friends And Family ​ Optimise Your Athletes' Recovery ​ Position Yourself As An Expert To Your Athletes And Naturally Improve Buy-In ​ Reduce Your Athletes' Injury Ratese ​ Save 100's Of Dollars A Year That Would Otherwise Be Spent On Books, Courses And More ​ Improve Your Athletes' Performance ​ Advance Forward In Your Career, Allowing You To Earn More Money And Work With Elite-Level Athletes ​ Save Yourself The Stress & Worry Of Constantly Trying To Stay Up-To-Date With Sports Science Research

On this episode of A Dose of Black Joy and Caffeine I chatted with Brittany Johnson aka @BrittJohnz. Brittany Johnson is a first-generation Jamaican-American with a passion for creativity and inclusion. She uses her Social Media, Art Direction and Design talents to develop people-first ideas and strategic solutions for her clients. Brittany aims to amplify Black Beauty as a Digital Content Creator by building educational content and advocating for Diversity, Equity and Inclusion within the beauty industry. Listen in as she shares a few tips on public speaking, beauty and leaving your current career for a new one.

The Instagram Stories - 9-1-21 - Q&A from the Instagram Insider Magazine with Brittany Johnson @brittjohnz

We hear from the CEO and Founder of FashionPass, a must-have clothing rental service that inspires confidence and allows women to have a never-ending closet with the latest styles and accessories. We hear her journey on quitting her job in tech and starting in a completely new direction as a 20-something female entrepreneur and business owner. She shares tips on starting a biz, how her company survived COVID and her philosophy on cultivating a strong brand and work culture. Try out Fashion Pass with my discount code SARAH2Q for $30 off your first month and visit www.thefashionpass.com to check out their brands and latest styles. Find them on IG @fashionpass

In this episode, we talk about the singer/influencer Lovely Peaches (aka. Brittany Johnson)

In this episode, Brandi and Daisy take some time to discuss mental health and its impact and how important mental wellness is. This episode also features special guest, Brittany Johnson, a licensed counselor who sheds light on her own experience in therapy and also gives some tips and tidbits about mental wellness! --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/missunderstoodthepod/support

Do you lack confidence in your abilities?  Do you feel undeserving or that you have earned your place in life due to coincidence?  Do you feel like you're a fraud and that at any moment, someone can expose you and make your insecurities about how you feel inadequate?  If you answered yes to any of these questions, you are a victim of imposter syndrome.Today's I welcome Mrs. Brittany Johnson, licensed therapist and author to the conversation where she schools us on what imposter syndrome is, where it comes from and how we can overcome it.Here's all the information where you can find, follow and support Ms. Brittany Johnson:FacebookInstagramPodcastWebsiteIf you are interested in attending #ForBrownGirlsBlog Presents.... Brown Girl, Get WRITE to Healing on Sunday May 26th at 4:30, click HERE for the Eventbrite link!As always, thank you for listening! Please leave a 5 star rating and positive review!~ Lady J#MentalHeatlhAwarenessMonth⁠⁠ #ForBrownGirlsBlog⁠⁠ #ConversationsWithABrownGirl⁠⁠ #WOCPodcaster⁠⁠ #Empowerment⁠⁠ #BlackWoman⁠⁠#PodcastersofInstagram⁠⁠ #BlackWomen⁠⁠ #PodcastForBlackWomen⁠⁠ #BlackWomanCreative⁠⁠ #SelfLove⁠⁠ #SelfCare⁠⁠#EmpowerBlackWomen⁠⁠ #UpliftBlackWomen⁠⁠ #EducateBlackWomen⁠⁠ #SupportBlackWomen⁠⁠ #MentalHealth⁠⁠ #BlackWomenHealing⁠⁠ #Normalize⁠⁠#BreaktheStigma⁠⁠ #BlackWomenandMentalHealthPodcast⁠⁠ #Anxietysupport⁠⁠ #SisterCircle--- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app--- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/fbgb/message

Ends and Outs of Nonprofits

Juice Crew is back with Episode 24. We have a couple special guest come by and join the crew. ( Brittany Johnson & Brittany Cunningham). In this episode we bring you tons of different things from the loss of the Legend DMX to the Latest on the George Floyd trial. We also ask the woman a few questions about relationships. So tune in and enjoy the show...JJJJJUUUIIICCCEEE CCCRRREEEWWWW

Communication is KEY! In this episode we define and explore what constitutes effective communication in friendships, your faith, and more. I am joined by Brittany Johnson and Renisha Lashay.

In this episode I am joined by Brittany Johnson and Destiny Carter as we discuss our experiences abroad. Food, culture, education, Spanish, being Black abroad, travel tips, and more!

Morgan Thomas and Brittany Johnson dive into thoughts on 2020. Processing loss, what we learned, and leaving a legacy. Be gentle...this is our first podcast test run! It's only up from here!

Our first episode of 2021! Brittany Johnson joins us to talk about her family overcoming her mother's diagnosis of Huntington's Disease in 2018 and how they are living their lives to the fullest despite having HD In the family. Please share this episode and leave us a review.Follow Britney and her blog:@bebravewithbarb_hdawarenesshttps://www.instagram.com/bebravewithbarb_hdawareness/Ourjourneythroughhd.wordpress.comFollow Champions:https://www.championsforhd.org/https://www.instagram.com/championsforhd/https://www.facebook.com/championsforhd/Follow Shelby:https://www.instagram.com/shelby_lentz/https://www.shelbylentz.com/https://www.facebook.com/shelbylentzmusic/?ref=bookmarksSupport the show (https://www.championsforhd.org/donate)Support the show (https://www.championsforhd.org/donate)

What's the future of D2C fashion? How do you launch a startup if you are dating the other founder? How do you pick the right social influencers for your brand? If you are interested in any of those Qs, this week's #SixPack interview with FashionPass co-founders (Brittany Johnson, Joel Avery) will go down smooth like a sip of Longbranch Bourbon (@WildTurkey, hit me up for a 1-month free sponsorship

In today's episode, I chat with Brittany Johnson, a licensed mental health counselor, motivational speaker and author of Get Out Of Your Own Way-21 Days to Stop Self Sabotage. She explains what self sabotage is, how to recognize it, and ways to stop it. We also discuss ways perfectionism and anxiety can show up in a self sabotage mindset. Additionally, Brittany provides some tips one can use daily to help ease anxiety and she also shares some suggestions on how to utilize the positive traits of perfectionism that will in turn help you complete your goals. Follow Brittany- Instagram: @brittanyajohnsonlmhc Facebook: Brittany A Johnson LMHC LinkedIn: Brittany Johnson LMHC Purchase- Get Out Of Your Own Way-21 Days to Stop Self Sabotage: www.amazon.com/dp/0578434571?ref=ppx_pop_mob_ap_share --- This episode is sponsored by · Anchor: The easiest way to make a podcast. https://anchor.fm/app --- Send in a voice message: https://anchor.fm/thewonderingmind/message