Podcasts about Passion

Barry Selland is the President of Selland Trucking, a multigenerational family business that has been hauling freight across America for more than 50 years. Based in rural South Dakota, He has grown the company from its agricultural roots into a nationwide flatbed and step-deck carrier known for reliability, long-term customer relationships, and a team culture built on respect. With decades of on-the-road experience and a deep commitment to his employees, he embodies what it means to build big dreams from small-town America. Top 3 Value Bombs 1. A thriving family business is built on one thing above all - communication, brutal honesty, constant dialogue, and transparency. 2. Passion fuels longevity, if you don't truly love the work, the business won't survive the hard seasons. 3. Rural entrepreneurs succeed by wearing every hat, doing the work themselves, and maintaining personal relationships that technology can't replace. Visit Barry's website to learn more about their business - Selland Trucking Sponsors HighLevel - The ultimate all-in-one platform for entrepreneurs, marketers, coaches, and agencies. Learn more at HighLevelFire.com. Freedom Circle - A powerful community of entrepreneurs led by JLD. Are you ready to go from idea to income in 90-days? Visit Freedom-Circle.com to learn more.

For a deeper study of God's Word, plus daily resources for your walk with Jesus, visit https://passionequip.com/.—With Passion City Online, you can join us every Sunday live at 9:30a and 11:45a, and our gatherings are available on-demand starting at 7p! Join us at https://passioncitychurch.com—Subscribe to our channel to see more messages from Passion City Church: https://www.youtube.com/passioncitychurch—Looking for content for your Kids? Subscribe to our Passion Kids Channel:https://passion.link/passionkidsonline —If you would like to give to our house, visit https://passioncitychurch.com/give/—Check out Passion's books, music, and more at https://passionresources.com/—At Passion City Church, we believe that because God has displayed the ultimate sacrifice in Jesus, our response to that in worship must be extravagant. It is our privilege and our created purpose to reflect God's Glory to Him through our praise, our sacrifice, and our song. —Follow Passion City Church: https://www.instagram.com/passioncity/ Follow Louie Giglio: https://www.instagram.com/louiegiglio Passion City Church is a Jesus church with locations in Atlanta and Washington D.C. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

SUPPORT THE SHOW ON PATREON: https://www.patreon.com/lionsledbydonkeys In this week's episode, we begin part one of a 2-part series describing the life and times of George Gordon Byron, 6th Baron Byron, the famous Romantic poet of the early 19th century who went to Greece in hopes of fighting for independence against the Ottomans, and immediately died. But, who was this man? And is describing something as "Byronic" a good thing? Spoiler: uh-oh. BIBLIOGRAPHY Bostridge, Mark. “On the Trail of the Real Lord Byron.” The Independent, November 4, 2002. https://www.the-independent.com/arts-entertainment/books/features/on-the-trail-of-the-real-lord-byron-126324.html. Brand, Emily. The Fall of the House of Byron: Scandal and Seduction in Georgian England. Paperback edition. John Murray, 2021. Brewer, David. The Greek War of Independence: The Struggle for Freedom from Ottoman Oppression and the Birth of the Modern Greek Nation. Woodstock, N.Y. : Overlook Press, 2001. http://archive.org/details/greekwarofindepe0000brew. Burton, Danielle. “Lord Byron and His Pet Bear.” Derbyshire Record Office, October 22, 2024. https://recordoffice.wordpress.com/2024/10/22/lord-byron-and-his-pet-bear/. Byron, George Gordon, Ernest Hartley Coleridge, and Rowland Edmund Prothero Ernle. The Words of Lord Byron. London : J. Murray; New York, C. Scribner's sons, 1898. http://archive.org/details/worksoflordbyron11byro. Byron, William Byron. The trial of William Lord Byron, Baron Byron of Rochdale, for the murder of William Chaworth, Esq; before the Right Honourable the House of Peers, ... On Tuesday the 16th, and Wednesday the 17th of April, 1765: on the last of which days the said William Lord Byron was acquitted of murder, but found guilty of manslaughter. ... 1765. 1765. http://archive.org/details/bim_eighteenth-century_the-trial-of-william-lor_byron-william-byron-ba_1765. “Edward Blaquiere, British Officer, Founding Member of the Philhellenic Committee of London.” Εταιρεία Για Τον Ελληνισμό Και Τον Φιλελληνισμό, October 27, 2020. https://www.eefshp.org/en/edward-blaquiere-british-officer-founding-member-of-the-philhellenic-committee-of-london/. Jones, Thomas. “On Top of Everything.” Review of Byron: Child of Passion, Fool of Fame, by Benita Eisler. London Review of Books, September 16, 1999. https://www.lrb.co.uk/the-paper/v21/n18/thomas-jones/on-top-of-everything. Kunst Museum Winterthur. “Bildtext: Der Wanderer über dem Nebelmeer.” Accessed December 9, 2025. https://www.kmw.ch/ausstellungen/friedrich/digital/wanderer/. Marchand, Leslie A. Byron: A Portrait. The University of Chicago Press, 1979. MacCarthy, Fiona. Byron: Life and Legend. London: John Murray, 2014. Patanè, Vincenzo, James Schwarten, and John Francis Phillimore. The Sour Fruit: Lord Byron, Love & Sex. John Cabot university press Copublished by the Rowman & Littlefield, 2019. Rizzoli, G. B. “Byron's Unacknowledged Armenian Grammar and a New Poem.” Keats-Shelley Journal 64 (2015): 43–71.

Mike Nett, GM of Trading Cards and Memorabilia at eBay, joins Passion to Profession to share his path from childhood collecting to running the largest trading card marketplace in the world. We talk about how his experiences at Pepsi, Amazon, and PSA shaped the way he thinks about collectors, sellers, and trust at scale. Mike pulls back the curtain on how eBay makes product decisions, why sellers are the engine of the hobby, what 2025 data revealed about collector behavior, and how small experience changes can have massive impact. This conversation is about growth, perspective, and building for collectors without losing the human side of the hobby. A special thank you to eBay for sponsoring Passion to Profession. The biggest and best marketplace to buy your next favorite trading card.Get exclusive content, promote your cards, and connect with other collectors who listen to the pod today by joining the Patreon: Join Stacking Slabs Podcast Patreon[Distributed on Sunday] Sign up for the Stacking Slabs Weekly Rip Newsletter using this linkFollow Stacking Slabs: | Twitter | Instagram | Facebook | Tiktok ★ Support this podcast on Patreon ★

In this powerful episode, Candice sits down with Heidi Yewman, an award-winning filmmaker, author, and longtime advocate for trauma survivors and gun violence prevention. Heidi shares her personal journey growing up in an abusive household, navigating deep childhood trauma, and finding her voice through advocacy, storytelling, and community work following the Columbine High School tragedy. In this episode, they discuss:How childhood trauma shapes identity, coping, and resilienceWhy minimizing pain is often a survival strategyThe role of safety, rules, and accountability in healingHow advocacy can become a pathway to reclaiming your voiceWhy asking hard questions about gun safety saves livesHow empathy and dialogue create space for real reformTurning imposter syndrome into purpose-driven action This episode is a reminder that healing begins when we tell the truth, listen with compassion, and choose courage over silence. By turning pain into purpose, it is possible to create hope, connection, and lasting change! About Heidi Yewman:Heidi Yewman has dedicated 26 years to advocating for trauma survivors, with a passion for gun violence prevention ignited in 1999 when her former basketball coach and teacher, Dave Sanders, was tragically killed alongside 12 students in the Columbine High School massacre.An award-winning director and producer of the documentary “Behind the Bullet,” Heidi has also authored the book “Beyond the Bullet: Personal Stories of Gun Violence Aftermath” and contributed numerous articles highlighting the devastating impact of gun violence on victims and their families.As a board member of Brady United Against Gun Violence, Women Donors Network, Develop Africa, and the Trauma Intervention Program, Heidi has combined deep empathy with extensive experience in trauma work and community organizing to foster more meaningful conversations about gun violence. She approaches advocacy with fresh perspectives, aiming to create solutions rooted in compassion and dialogue.Her writing has appeared in USA Today, Ms. Magazine, The Seattle Times, The Oregonian, and The Huffington Post. Her widely recognized four-part series, "My Month with a Gun," was published in Ms. Magazine, The Daily Beast, and The Denver Post. Her debut memoir, “Dumb Girl,” was published August 2025. For more, visit HeidiYewman.comWebsite - https://heidiyewman.com/Book trailer - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qwgh-FmluQ4linkedin.com/in/heidi-yewman-aa52ba71Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/heidiyewmanauthor/Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61572729608602BlueSky - https://bsky.app/profile/heidiyewmanauthor.bsky.socialGoodreads - https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/220630538-dumb-girlAmazon - https://www.amazon.com/Dumb-Girl-Journey-Childhood-Advocacy/dp/1647429420/Behind The Bullet Documentary: Can be found on Amazon to rent or buyBookshop - https://bookshop.org/p/books/dumb-girl-a-journey-from-childhood-abuse-to-gun-control-advocacy-heidi-yewman/7cc465fa041d5442-----If you're struggling, consider therapy with our sponsor, BetterHelp.Visit https://betterhelp.com/candicesnyder for a 10% discount on your first month of therapy.*This is a paid promotionIf you are in the United States and in crisis, or any other person may be in danger -Suicide & Crisis Lifeline Dial 988-----Connect with Candice Snyder!Website: https://www.podpage.com/passion-purpose-and-possibilities-1/Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/candicebsnyder?_rdrPassion, Purpose, and Possibilities Community Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/passionpurposeandpossibilitiescommunity/Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/passionpurposepossibilities/LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/candicesnyder/Shop For A Cause With Gifts That Give Back to Nonprofits: https://thekindnesscause.com/Fall In Love With Artists And Experience Joy And Calm: https://www.youtube.com/@movenartrelaxationClick this link to receive your FREE TRIAL to The Greenhouse Communityhttps://www.thegreenhousecommunity.com/checkout/the-greenhouse-membership?affiliate_code=11e889

This week, we flip the script and feature one of our amazing dealer partners who helps us empower coaches every single day. Meet Mike McCarroll — former pole vaulter, college coach, and now a Game One sales rep helping athletic programs across Texas get the equipment they need.Mike shares his journey

A propos de l'amour entre George Sand et Alfred de Musset, beaucoup d'encre a coulée. Leur histoire fascine. Par son lyrisme et son intensité, bien qu'elle fût brève. Pour eux, aimer c'est être dépassés. Dépassés par leurs sentiments, par cet amour qui les dévore, par les excès d'une union devenue toxique. Un podcast Bababam Originals Ecriture et voix : Alice Deroide Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Welcome to the DMF! I'm Justin Younts, and in this episode, Christine La Monte shares an extraordinary creative journey that began in Rome in 2012. That pivotal moment marked her introduction to a gifted young filmmaker, Maxime Derevenko, who would later emerge as an influential voice in the worlds of opera and film.Christine reflects on how their collaboration grew through shared curiosity, mentorship, and artistic trust—eventually leading to a powerful opera project rooted in themes of social justice, peace, and human connection. As the world entered the uncertainty of the pandemic, this work took on even greater meaning, becoming a testament to the resilience of artists and the enduring power of creativity.She discusses the profound experience of collaborating with Ai Weiwei and the Rome Opera House, and how that partnership offered a bold, global perspective on art's role in times of crisis. Despite having only eight performances, the opera stood as a beacon of hope and reflection during a moment when art felt more essential than ever.Christine emphasizes the importance of mentorship and nurturing emerging talent, sharing how storytelling through art can elevate consciousness and inspire meaningful dialogue. In this conversation, she invites us to explore a world where every voice matters and creativity becomes a force for change.Join us as we celebrate the power of collaboration, storytelling, and art's ability to guide us toward a brighter future.00:00:00 - Introduction00:00:06 - Beginning of Film Career00:00:25 - Meeting Maxime Derevenko00:01:55 - Working with Ai Weiwei00:04:42 - Impact of COVID-1900:05:31 - Restarting in 202200:06:59 - Reflections on the Film00:07:47 - Film's Oscar Consideration00:08:22 - Role of Activism00:09:19 - Teaching at the School of Visual Arts00:11:01 - Reflections on Film Industry00:12:22 - Looking Back at Career00:13:31 - Passion for Teaching00:14:47 - Importance of Art and Culture00:16:20 - Closing Thoughts00:17:04 - Conclusion

Fueled by raw energy, cranked guitars, and unapologetic attitude, Vengent Strays delivers a sound that hits like a shot of adrenaline. With gritty swagger and an anthemic punch, the band channels classic rock power through a modern lens. Known for electrifying live shows and arena sized hooks, Vengent Strays is here to remind the world what real, genuine rock ‘n' roll feels like—loud, wild, and dangerously fun. Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/arroe-collins-like-it-s-live--4113802/support.

Elf on a Shelf: Part 1 Her stalker wasn't who she thought he was; Based on a post by LingeringAfterthought, in 3 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. Honey smiled at the long line of children waiting to see Santa, flipping her phone from Google Translate back to see the information of the next little girl in line, who was looking up at her somberly with large liquid brown eyes. In her small face was a familiar mixture of fear and hope. Wonder; it was wonder in her eyes, Honey thought. Unlike the tired and jaded adults, dutifully shifting their weight from foot to foot, holding overstuffed shopping bags and all the coats of their kids as they distracted themselves on their phones, the children got more and more excited as they drew near the man in the furry red suit with white trim. Honey loved working with the children; because like them, she sometimes could still see the magic. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Norman shift uncomfortably in the painted plywood throne made for him to sit with the children and discuss their good behavior and of the wishes that they hoped would come true. Even at age 62, Norman still saw the magic with his merry bright blue eyes, but it faded when his prostate pained him. When the photographer got the shot the parent wanted, Honey walked to where most of the long line could see her as Norman flashed her a look of worshipful gratitude. The adults' faces immediately fell, knowing what was coming. "I'm afraid Santa needs to take a quick break because apparently the reindeer have begun arguing again!" Norman put his gloved hands up to his real beard, pulled a comically dismayed face, jumped up from his throne, and ran off toward the restrooms. Honey shook her head mournfully and continued, "The reindeer were all practicing their Christmas carols when Comet and Cupid couldn't decide how many times Santa checks his list in Santa Claus is Coming to Town! Does anyone here remember how it goes?" she asked, scanning the line for people game enough to help. Honey scampered back and forth along the line trying to choose among the eager volunteers, her white-trimmed, pink fur skirt flaring out around her thighs, her long legs clad in sparkly curly-toed ruby slippers and candy cane swirl stockings catching the eyes of several fathers. Suddenly, she gasped listening carefully to her headset, "Nina?" she called out. "Comet and Cupid say they will only stop arguing if 'Nina' gives the answer. Is there a 'Nina' here today? Nina?" Honey looked around at the crowd carefully until the little girl with the big brown eyes, who had been quietly waiting 57 minutes in line, gathered the courage to raise her hand. "Oh! Are you Nina?" she asked, running over and crouching down near the girl. "We just adopted her; she only speaks Portuguese," the weary woman holding her hand said quietly. Honey gasped and smiled widely, "Voc fala portugu s Nina? Maravilhosa!" she said, watching the little girl's eyes brighten excitedly. "Voc pode me dizer quantas vezes o Papai Noel verifica sua lista?" she asked, holding her microphone out to the little girl. "Duas vezes!" Nina said confidently into the mic. Honey listened carefully to her headset, concentrating, "'Duas vezes' it is! They've stopped arguing!" she announced. "But now, they want us all to sing the song in Portuguese! Nina, voc vai me ajudar a ensin -los a m sica?" she asked. Nina nodded and slowly she and Honey taught the familiar song to the crowd in a new language. As always, a hush came on the crowd when Honey began to sing. Heads raised up from forgotten phones. Vague smiles drifted onto the turning heads of passers-by in the mall as they paused in their frenetic search for gifts. It wasn't so much that Honey's voice was beautiful, though it certainly was. It was more that when Honey sang, it seemed to make the things that didn't really matter melt away. To those that believed in such things, Honey's voice was magic. When she sang, people held their breath and didn't even miss the air. Honey closed her eyes as she sang next to Nina. It was a newly acquired habit. Though she had been taught to let her eyes slowly drift over the audience, letting them make a connection with each person as she sang, she didn't do that anymore. She knew he was out there. She felt his presence frequently as she worked, but it was only when she sang that he came out into the open. She couldn't hold her voice steady when she saw him watching her, so she closed her eyes and let the magic continue for the crowd. When the song ended, Honey opened her eyes as the crowd cheered, finding his powerful form immediately as if she had been commanded to look at him. Zach. He had changed a lot in the year since he brought his sister's children through the long Santa line, drawing her almost too-large dark blue eyes to him then, as easily as he did now. After bringing his nieces and nephews through the line, he'd gone home and brought all his neighbors' kids to see Santa in five more trips, watching her the entire time. He looked at her as if he'd never seen anything like her in the world, like he couldn't believe she was real. She had loved feeling his eyes on her then, hearing his voice. She had wanted to climb up in his lap, feel his large arms curled around her, whisper to him about how good she had been that year, and of how much she hoped he would make her wishes come true. Of course, all that was before he'd told her he wanted to kill her. Zach's face looked leaner now, though his body seemed even larger, if such a thing was possible. His brooding, deep-set eyes were not merry, as they had been when children climbed his tree-like body in her line last year. They weren't nervously soft and adoring of every part of her, as they had been at their candle-lit dinner. His eyes weren't rageful or insane as you might expect from someone visiting their object of murderous hate, but rather; they were tortured, trapped. Pain and quiet desperation had taken up restless residence in the windows to his soul. Honey knew she shouldn't look at him so much, but she just wished she could understand what she had done wrong. Once the line of children and parents had cleared, it was long past the official closing time. Honey cleaned up the display and prepared it for the next day while Norman took one last lingering trip to the restroom. Her phone showed numerous messages from work friends from her other job asking where she was. The firm had planned a Christmas party at Gatsby's, a gorgeous club worthy of F. Scott Fitzgerald's glamorous hero. It was also the place where Zach had taken her on their first and last date. The Gatsby's waiter had looked stunned and confused when she shakily ordered herself an "angel shot," the code-phrase used to quietly ask bartenders or wait staff for help when you felt threatened, but after his initial shock, the waiter immediately escorted her secretly to a taxi waiting outside before Zach returned to the table. Gatsby's had saved her life; but she didn't want to go back there. After avoiding call after call from Zach, she finally answered and politely asked him never to call her again. To her surprise, he didn't. He never spoke to her again. Unless she sang, she never even saw him, but she felt his presence almost everywhere. It felt like she was haunted by him; haunted by something wonderful and magical that, inexplicably, went horribly wrong. Her phone buzzed again, the display showing that the firm's senior partner wanted to FaceTime her. Steeling herself, she answered. "Honey Lane where in the hell; oh my god lookit you!" Aaron Timberman held the phone high above his head with his long ex-basketball-player arms and Honey saw a crowd of her co-workers crowd into the picture behind him. "Um, hi sir. Sorry I'm late to;" "You're an elf!" "Um, yeah. It's a volunteer thing;" "Wait, wait, wait; you have the shoes? You know, with the; toes?" he slurred, motioning his finger in a spiral motion. Honey bit her lips and tilted the camera down her body, showing her entire costume, tilting her foot to show off the curled toe. "I'm sorry it got late tonight, but I'll be there as soon as I can get home and get changed;" Timberman looked around at the crowd surrounding him, "Guys, do we wanna see Honey Lane here at the party in some boring old Anne Klein shit, or do we want the elf?" he yelled, pointing at the screen. Behind him, almost a dozen of her co-workers began chanting "Elf, Elf, Elf, Elf!" "Get yer ass over here, Elf," Timberman ordered, poking at his screen several times before effectively ending the call. A few minutes later, Norman finally came back from the restroom and gave Honey a ride over to Gatsby's in his red SUV bedecked with a bumper sticker that read, "My other car's a SLEIGH!" Honey hopped out after getting bits of advice from Norman that would have been appropriate several decades ago. With flaming cheeks, she brushed the furry white pompom from her hat out of her face and told the smirking ma tre d which party she wanted, sighing when he grinned widely and escorted her through the middle of the main dining area, much to her horror. When the doors to the party room opened and she was greeted by another round of "Elf, Elf, Elf, Elf," she didn't feel much better. She was starving, so she headed over to the buffet and began loading up a plate with delicious-looking things on ice in shot glasses, impaled on sticks, or immersed in flames. She just spied a quiet table in a dark corner and was winding her way toward it to it to scarf down her only food since breakfast before she could be drawn into a drunken debate. That was the plan, anyway. "Hunnybaby! Lookit you! C'mon we gotta dance!" Lee James slurred to her fur-trimmed tits. With a sigh, she smiled and laid her plate down on a nearby table, promising to herself that she would eat right after enduring a dance with the favored junior partner. Unfortunately, after Lee angled her awkwardly around the dance floor, they'd drawn so much attention that everyone wanted to get pics of themselves toasting and dancing with the Christmas elf. At some point, she found herself in Timberman's arms with a glass of champagne in her hand. "Um; what?" she said, almost asking herself how she had gotten there. "I said you look lovely, tonight, Honey. Much better than in a shawl and sheath dress," he said, quickly twirling her around as they reached the edge of the dance floor. "Twirling makes my skirt go up; I'm dizzy," she murmured. A familiar dark figure flashed in the background and disappeared as Timberman turned her again. She looked around, trying to find the figure again, but she couldn't see him anywhere. Why was he there? Had she been singing again? "Well, I'll make sure nobody twirls you, my dear," he said, twirling her and smiling as her skirt flew up her long candy-cane striped legs. "The wives wouldn't like it." "I like your wife's dress Mr. Timberman; looks warm. It covers her ass when she sits, too," she slurred, frowning in confusion at the dark red drink in her hand now. Zach was frowning, and then he just looked blurry again as she swirled around. Maybe swirling made it harder for him to kill her. Why did he want to kill her? It just wasn't fair. Timberman leaned down and dipped her, "I'll make sure to give her your compliments. You know, if you like what wives wear, you should consider getting married. Lee is quite taken with you, you know," he said, stroking his hand against the soft pink velvet of her dress. Honey found herself drifting away and wandering inside her head again, thinking about Lee; he was handsome in an overly-polished way, said funny things, but they always sounded a little mean, like he wanted to be the only one laughing; and he also took her away from the food plate that just floated by on a table. It was still full. She should have eaten that food. What time was it? "He likes my boobs; and he doesn't want to kill me," she agreed eventually, surprised to find that Timberman was gone and she was dancing with Lee James again. "Well, I can't blame him for that; they're fucking perfect; just like everything else. I'm gonna come on them after you suck me off; he murmured, pulling her closer against him. "Let me take you home, Honey; penthouse view of the city; "Umm; no, that's not home; I live in the; railroad place; with the trains?" Honey explained, pointing in what she thought was the direction of the Lowertown Commons. Why did every guy think she lived with them tonight? "Sounds charming, Eliza Doolittle; you should trade up. You don't know how much I'd love twist your arms back and fuck this ass wide open over my balcony tonight," he said, reaching his hand under her skirt and greedily squeezing her bottom. "You'd like that, wouldn't you Honey? I can tell; Lee whispered, his cologne invading her head and making her queasy. "I feel sick; Honey whimpered and staggered away, trying to find the quiet table where the food was that would make her less drunk. The dance floor was confusing, though, always turning around and thumping and flashing. She leaned against a pillar until she got a better sense of where she was. She liked the pillar. It was big and strong; and it stroked her hair. "Honey; wake up, Honey. Open your mouth. You need to take these," the vaguely familiar voice said, cutting through the sleep that had been blocking out some of the pain she felt everywhere. She obediently opened her mouth and the hand put two caplets on her tongue. A water bottle squirted a little cool liquid into her mouth until she moaned and sucked harder, desperate for more. "Not too much. Wait until you can hold that down. I'll give you more in a bit. You don't want that IV back, do you?" "Nuh" Honey groaned. She hated needles. Sure, just about every part of her body hurt more than a needle did, right now, but somehow needle pain felt personal. Like with Zach. He didn't seem like someone who went around wanting to choke everybody; just her. She was nobody special; just a simple girl who kept lawyers organized and tried to be nice. Then, someone wonderful like Zach thought she needed to die. That hurt. Something about her made him go from being tender and intensely loving to someone who; it just didn't make sense. What did she do? Mercifully, sleep faded the pain and clouded her thoughts. Voices below her intruded into a wonderful dream where she was bouncing on clouds. Though not in the same room, the voices seemed strangely clear. "I can't; Terry, she cries when I do that," the pills voice said, making her eyes fly open. She knew that voice. She hadn't heard it for a year, but she would never forget it. Her body reacted with a confused mix of emotions, her cheeks flushing and adrenaline searing a path all through her at the same time. "That's because it hurts her. You know what hurts more? Bedsores. Man up. Use the pillows to prop her weight against the parts that aren't hurt on whichever side. It's either this, or she goes back to the hospital, and I have it on good authority you won't be allowed to visit after what happened." "She was screaming; Zach gritted. "Yeah, well they were putting her shoulder back in. People scream. That still doesn't excuse what you did. Since when did you become such a pussy about pain?" Terry asked. "since her." "oh my god." "Shut up," Zach grunted. "Oh my god; "Yeah, that's not shutting up." "The great Z-dog has been taken down;" "Shut up, maggot, it's not like that. I'm just taking care of h;" "By a little bitty pink Christmas elf; Terry laughed. There was a scuffling sound and then a loud whoomp and a forceful exhalation of air. "So, I turn her every few hours until she can do it for herself?" Zach asked, casually. "Yes, sir," Terry choked. "Anything else?" "Clear liquids until she can hold stuff down. Talk to her. Ask her questions. If she seems disoriented or part of her face goes slack, she goes back to the hospital. Don't fuck around." "Got it. Are you squared away, or do we need to discuss this further?" "Squared away, sir," Terry choked, then gasped in relief, panting faintly. "Jesus Christ, you haven't lost your touch. We on for the hump tomorrow at 0 500?" "No. I'm gonna stick close here until she's;" "Got it. Hey, maybe they have those Baby Bjorn things in elf-size. Then, you could just strap her onto your ba; ow! ow! ow, ow, ow!" "You weren't particularly attached to the rest of that sentence, were you, maggot?" Zach growled. "Sir, no sir; Terry squeaked. "I didn't think so. You'll be back here Wednesday," Zach stated, more as an order than a question. "Yeah, if you want me to. Honestly, right now she just needs rest and TLC more than a medic. That stands for 'tender loving care' by the way, not;" "You were just going," Zach said, as the voices moved to another end of the room below her. "Hey, you wanna know what makes an elf's toes curl up like tha;" Terry asked, his question cut off by the slamming of the door. Honey listened, trembling and terrified as Zach paced the floor below her. Though his voice hadn't changed, he sounded nothing like the man that had wooed her so tenderly a year ago. He sounded dangerous, brutal even. He definitely sounded like the kind of person that went around wanting to choke everyone, she thought, strangely relieved that her heartbreak felt a little less personal. How could she have been so wrong in her impression of him? She looked around the room, understanding now how the voices had reached her so easily. She was in an open industrial loft bedroom that opened onto the main floor below. Looking around, she realized she must be in Zach's huge bed, though if the crisply made side next to her was any indication, he hadn't been sleeping in it with her. Looking down her body, she gasped quietly. Her left arm was in a sling strapped to her chest, her legs were covered in bruises, and the right leg that was being stabbed with an invisible knife right now, was wrapped up in an air cast boot. What had happened to her? The last thing she remembered was feeling sick as she tried to get away from Lee's groping hands on the dance floor. After that; nothing. How did she get here? A beeping noise sounded below and Zach walked across the room to what sounded like a kitchen. The sound of water being poured into a cup, the ringing of a spoon stirring it, a pill bottle being opened. Honey shivered, realizing he was probably coming up to her, soon. She closed her eyes and tried to slow her breathing, feigning sleep. Steps ascending to the loft bedroom. Ankle stabbing, stab, stab, stab, stab with every panicked heartbeat. A tray went down on the nightstand next to her. A chair across the room was lifted and set down by the bed. Honey told herself to breathe slowly, willing the tears welling behind her lids not to leak out of her eyes. He would leave her alone if she was sleeping, wouldn't he? "You're not sleeping," Zach's voice stated, quietly, and her stomach clenched in fear. "You've been waking up for these pills every four hours like a junkie. I know you don't want to talk to me, Honey, but until you're squared away, you're gonna have to. So, cut the crap, open your eyes, and let's get this done." Honey opened her eyes to see his grim face looking down at her. With one blink, large tears rolled down her pale cheeks, and Zach's jaw set angrily. Sitting down in the chair, he put his elbows on his knees and leaned his massive shoulders forward, looking at her. His hands looked like they could crush rocks as he gripped them together. "Let's get some things straight. I don't know what you think you know about me, but acting like I'm some kind of psycho is pretty shitty. You want nothing of me, that's fine, but you're hurt because you screamed and flung yourself down some stairs rather than let me help you to an Uber. You're staying here until you're well, because some shithead at that party gave you enough roofies to be in a coma for almost 3 days and I'm not dragging my ass to that rat trap of yours in the Commons every day to make sure they don't come back while you're weak. Are we clear?" he asked. Honey swallowed and nodded, wincing at the pain in her neck and head. That just seemed to make Zach angrier. "While you are here, you will do as you're told. You will eat what you get, and you will not complain. You see these, here?" he said, holding up the magic caplets that made everything better. "These are the last ones you're getting. I'm switching you to ibuprofen and Tylenol because, unchecked, this Sackler shit will fuck you up for good and that's not happening on my watch. Do you understand?" he asked. "Yes," Honey whispered. At the sound of her voice, Zach's mouth twitched, but at least he didn't look as angry as when she'd nodded and winced. "You will follow your doctor's orders to the last goddamn word. You will rest. You will do your therapy. You will let me help you and you will ask me for what you need because I am not a fucking mind reader. And so help me, if you do anything stupid like get out of that bed without me here to help you, or push yourself away from me like you did at Gatsby's, or any other drama shit that hurts even one hair on that head again, I will personally make you regret you were ever born." "Yes, Zach," Honey breathed, confused. Two more tears rolled down her cheeks. Without thinking, she leaned over to wipe them off on her shoulder and cried out in pain. Zach squeezed his clenched hands together and several of his knuckles cracked. "You don't use my name. You don't get to use my name. You're not getting under my skin again, you hear me?" Zach growled, using his rough knuckle to wipe her tears. "Orders a fucking angel shot in my own fucking club; fuck you. I don't have a name, you don't have a name. You're nothing to me. Understand?" "Yes, sir," she whispered. Honey leaned forward and took the last spoonful of broth into her mouth and swallowed, looking longingly at the noodles at the bottom of the cup. Zach caught a drop of broth at the bottom of her lower lip with the spoon and returned it to her mouth. "No," he said, seeing where her eyes lingered. "I can do it," she pleaded. "Please; I haven't had anything solid since; how long has it been?" "I said, no. You throw up on another pair of my skivvies and I'll be doing laundry twice a week," Zach said, dabbing her mouth with a paper towel. "Why do I have to wear your boxer briefs anyway? They feel weird. They have this hole-flap thing; and there are some places that aren't supposed to feel a breeze," Honey said, lifting the blanket to look down at his underwear loosely covering her hips. "Are you complaining?" he asked quietly. Honey's eyes darted quickly to his face, "No sir," she murmured, looking down at her lap. "I just thought if I had some of my things here, you wouldn't have to do the laundry so much." "I'll worry about what I have to do, Honey," he said, unthinkingly using her name. Startled, she looked up to see his eyes wandering over her, his massive t-shirt sleeves going down past her elbows. She felt ridiculous and disheveled, but something about the way he looked at her made her hold her breath. Then, without another word, he slurped the noodles out of the cup and took the tray downstairs. After that, the two settled into a quiet routine of him feeding her, giving her medicine, and watching her sleep most of the day. She would sometimes awaken to the soft repetitive sounds of him running on a treadmill, or the clinking of him lifting weights downstairs where she couldn't see him. Then, he would go to the bathroom and shower. After his shower, he came upstairs again in his towel and took some clothes from his dresser before going back downstairs to change. Honey found herself looking forward to those few seconds each day, watching his droplet-covered torso twist as he leaned over his dresser. He frowned as he flipped through his carefully folded underwear. "You wearing the grey ones?" he asked, not looking at her. Honey peeked under the covers, "Um, yes sir," she replied. "I'm supposed to wear the grey ones today," he grumbled to himself. Honey didn't say anything. Zach was the one who picked out which underwear she wore today. He was the one who looked away while he painstakingly slipped the old ones off her hips and pulled the new ones over her boot and up her legs until her bottom was covered again. There was nothing about her life that wasn't chosen and executed by him. If he wasn't happy about the color of his underwear, that was his fault. Still, Zach kept rummaging around in his underwear drawer as if another crisply folded grey pair would somehow magically appear. Finally, rather than offend him by laughing, Honey spoke, "Um; you know, if they're clean, I could wear the pair I had on when I went to the hospital and you could have these. It would get you back on schedule; Zach lifted his head from the drawer and glared at her, as if he thought she was making fun of him. Honey held carefully still and shrugged her uninjured limb. She wasn't making fun, she just wanted to help. The movement caused the huge neckline to gape over to the side, revealing her bare shoulder. She waited as Zach stared impassively at her, the vein at his neck throbbing. After a long moment, he walked over and stood next to her, the tuck of his towel right next to her face. With every breath, she inhaled the scent of his wet body and the bar soap he used. A rivulet of water painstakingly slid from his chest and down his abdomen, until finally disappearing into the tightly twisted white cotton. Honey glanced up to see that he had been reading her face as she watched the droplet's progress. With a shaking breath, she blushed and pulled the covers higher with her good arm. With a twist of his mouth, Zach pulled the neckline back over her shoulder again and quickly left the room. That night, after leaving her with a video baby monitor watching her on the nightstand, Zach returned with a bag of her underwear and some of her nightgowns. After watching her excitedly sort through them, Zach pushed them aside and sat on the edge of the bed. "There were a bunch of boxes with tags on them in your living room. What's that about?" he asked. Honey's eyes dropped, "Oh; that's the charity gift thing for kids. You sign up and get them something they wished for and wrap it up so they can have something under the tree, when they wouldn't have something otherwise. It's nice, you know? I signed up for a bunch and I was supposed to wrap them and get them back to the law firm, but I guess; sorry kids," she trailed off. Looking furious, yet carefully impassive at the same time, Zach cursed under his breath and left again, returning with the packages and a huge stack of unused Styrofoam clamshells from Gatsby's, and dumped them on the bed next to her. For the next few hours, they "wrapped" the presents, Zach carefully fitting items into an appropriate-sized takeout box, and Honey trying to make them pretty with ribbons. As she watched him work, occasionally cursing under his breath, she found herself smiling at his frowning face when he was strategizing how to fit a basketball into three disassembled clamshells. "What are you laughing at?" he said, glaring when he caught her at it. "I wasn't laughing. I was smiling." "Why were you smiling, then?" he asked. "I guess; I just like you; sir," she said, glancing over at him. Honey saw a hopeful softness steal into Zach's eyes until he forcibly wrestled it down and a look of hooded sarcasm shaded them. "Yeah, well; fool me once," he sneered. Angry, Honey closed her eyes, blocking him out the only way she could. "You know, that's; that's not fair. Not after what you said; you scared me!" she said, frustrated that, once again, tears were rolling down her cheeks. Zach choked out a mirthless laugh, "I scared you? What did I say, Honey? What did I fucking say? God! I was on eggshells all night trying not to fuck it up with you and then you just; why? Those creeps you were dancing with at that party, those fucking 'nice guys' that drugged you, they were saying shit that made my skin crawl! I didn't even kiss you! I couldn't! I could barely breathe just for looking at you on our date; you looked just like a fucking angel. What did I say, Honey? What did I say?" Honey reached over and grabbed her phone, flipping through her photo album to a screenshot taken shortly before she blocked his number. "You didn't say it; you texted it. I remember watching you leave for the restroom thinking I'd met the love of my life and then you sent me this; she said, handing her phone to him. Zach took the phone, his face going from an angry red to pale horror in a matter of seconds. "This; this; he gasped, "I didn't; send this; to you; he said, shaking his head. "Whoever had your phone did, sir!" she said, emphasizing the last word, making him wince. "I spent the last year thinking you wanted to do that to me; to kill me. Every time I felt you watching me, every crowd I saw you show up in, every dark room I had to go into, that's what I thought about. I thought that a man I was head over heels about; that I could be so wrong about him. So, excuse me for thinking I liked you, sir. I promise it won't ever happen again!" Honey cried herself to sleep that night, refusing to speak to, or even look at Zach again. When she awoke, the bedroom was empty, and a glass of water and a pain pill were waiting on the nightstand. After swallowing the pill, she stared at the ceiling, furious. She didn't want to be there anymore, to be helpless and dependent on him, to obey all his stupid rules. He didn't deserve to take care of her. So, she tightened the straps on her boot and increased the air pressure to hold her broken ankle tightly enough to walk without her crutches. Then, she took off Zach's t-shirt, pulled on her elf dress, and called herself an Uber. It was when she saw the anticipated arrival time of 8 minutes that she realized her mistake. There was no way for her to get down from the loft and out of the apartment quietly in that amount of time. If she used the crutches, she would be able to descend the stairs quickly enough, but they made such a distinctive clicking racket that they would surely wake up her gorilla-like guard. If she hopped down the stairs on her good foot, it might have worked, but her good arm was on the opposite side and she kept losing her balance. Eventually she decided on the most painful course, of going down on her good and bad legs, using her good arm for support. Her boot thunked horribly the first few times, until she got the hang of it and could place it more quietly on the next step and then hop her good foot down to support it before the scream inside her could escape her lips. By the time she reached the bottom, though, she was shaking with pain and exhausted. Curiosity forced her to look around the rest of the apartment as she caught her breath, sitting on the bottom step. It was clean and unmistakably masculine. Exercise equipment took up a lot of the space not already claimed by a leather couch and TV arrangement. Zach lay on the couch, made up with sheets to act as a bed, his feet sticking out over the arm, his hand tucked under the back of his head, his chest rising and falling under the rumpled sheet. If she wasn't so angry, she'd find him handsome; or maybe he still was handsome, she thought grudgingly, closing her eyes miserably and looking away. Why couldn't he be ugly? Life wasn't fair. Uber. Right. Screwing up her courage for what was ahead, she stood and slowly hobbled across the hardwood floor, agonizing over every painful thump and noisy squeak until she finally reached the door. She unlocked the five locks on his large door, each of them being well-oiled and working perfectly. She expected no less of her anal-retentive, grey-skivvies-on-Tuesdays captor. Finally, she tugged open the heavy door to find endless flights of icy steel-mesh stairs leading all the way down to the street where her Uber was waiting. "Oh, you gotta be kidding me; she cried, breaking down into tears. A strong arm slid down around her waist and mercifully shifted her weight off her throbbing foot, "I know. It sucks. You should try it with a rucksack full of bricks," Zach said, leaning his head down and breathing into her hair. "I want to go home," she whispered. "Let me take care of you; please," Zach murmured into the top of her head, "I; it was my fault this happened to you. I scared you, I know that now; but, please believe me that I would never want to hurt or frighten you like that." "It wasn't just that text," she said, pulling her head away and looking up at him angrily. "All year, I never had a moment's peace. Even when I couldn't see you, I could feel you waiting in the quiet or dark places. Even if you weren't there;" "I was there," he confessed. "I was always there. I didn't understand what had gone wrong. You didn't want to talk to me, and the world just didn't make sense to me unless I knew where you were, what you were doing; unless I knew you were safe." "Maybe you knew I was safe, but I didn't! I thought I'd done something; that somehow I deserved to have this beautiful, scary monster hunting me. I couldn't stop thinking about what I'd done to destroy something that was so; wonderful." "You didn't do anything, Honey. Nothing at all. You were perfect. You were so perfect that I couldn't keep; you didn't do anything wrong. I never meant to send you that message; please, please believe me." "Why did you send it?" she asked, finally looking up into his eyes. The dark blue liquid pools of her eyes turned violet in the moonlight, and Zach felt a tightening in his chest. "I; I can't tell you that; but it was never meant for you." "You mean, you meant to send that message to someone else? To hurt them like that?" "Honey, I; Zach said, looking around, unable to meet her eyes, "Please, I can't; you wouldn't understand; my life isn't like that anymore." "I want to go home, Zach; please," she whispered. Zach closed his eyes for a long moment before he swallowed and nodded, looking like he was in more pain than she was. "I'll take you home tomorrow, okay? Or Terry will, if you don't want me to. He'll check the place out, make sure you're set up and safe there. You're tired, you're hurting, and your Uber's gone, now. Let me take you back upstairs and you can go in the morning. Please." At that moment, a throb of pain shot through her entire leg, and as angry as Honey was, she knew she couldn't face her empty apartment without a few more hours of rest. "Okay," she whispered. To be continued in part 2, Based on a post by Lingering Afterthought, in 3 parts, for Literotica.

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Son histoire dans les buts a commencé dans la cour d'école

Elf on a Shelf: Part 1 Her stalker wasn't who she thought he was; Based on a post by LingeringAfterthought, in 3 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. Honey smiled at the long line of children waiting to see Santa, flipping her phone from Google Translate back to see the information of the next little girl in line, who was looking up at her somberly with large liquid brown eyes. In her small face was a familiar mixture of fear and hope. Wonder; it was wonder in her eyes, Honey thought. Unlike the tired and jaded adults, dutifully shifting their weight from foot to foot, holding overstuffed shopping bags and all the coats of their kids as they distracted themselves on their phones, the children got more and more excited as they drew near the man in the furry red suit with white trim. Honey loved working with the children; because like them, she sometimes could still see the magic. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Norman shift uncomfortably in the painted plywood throne made for him to sit with the children and discuss their good behavior and of the wishes that they hoped would come true. Even at age 62, Norman still saw the magic with his merry bright blue eyes, but it faded when his prostate pained him. When the photographer got the shot the parent wanted, Honey walked to where most of the long line could see her as Norman flashed her a look of worshipful gratitude. The adults' faces immediately fell, knowing what was coming. "I'm afraid Santa needs to take a quick break because apparently the reindeer have begun arguing again!" Norman put his gloved hands up to his real beard, pulled a comically dismayed face, jumped up from his throne, and ran off toward the restrooms. Honey shook her head mournfully and continued, "The reindeer were all practicing their Christmas carols when Comet and Cupid couldn't decide how many times Santa checks his list in Santa Claus is Coming to Town! Does anyone here remember how it goes?" she asked, scanning the line for people game enough to help. Honey scampered back and forth along the line trying to choose among the eager volunteers, her white-trimmed, pink fur skirt flaring out around her thighs, her long legs clad in sparkly curly-toed ruby slippers and candy cane swirl stockings catching the eyes of several fathers. Suddenly, she gasped listening carefully to her headset, "Nina?" she called out. "Comet and Cupid say they will only stop arguing if 'Nina' gives the answer. Is there a 'Nina' here today? Nina?" Honey looked around at the crowd carefully until the little girl with the big brown eyes, who had been quietly waiting 57 minutes in line, gathered the courage to raise her hand. "Oh! Are you Nina?" she asked, running over and crouching down near the girl. "We just adopted her; she only speaks Portuguese," the weary woman holding her hand said quietly. Honey gasped and smiled widely, "Voc fala portugu s Nina? Maravilhosa!" she said, watching the little girl's eyes brighten excitedly. "Voc pode me dizer quantas vezes o Papai Noel verifica sua lista?" she asked, holding her microphone out to the little girl. "Duas vezes!" Nina said confidently into the mic. Honey listened carefully to her headset, concentrating, "'Duas vezes' it is! They've stopped arguing!" she announced. "But now, they want us all to sing the song in Portuguese! Nina, voc vai me ajudar a ensin -los a m sica?" she asked. Nina nodded and slowly she and Honey taught the familiar song to the crowd in a new language. As always, a hush came on the crowd when Honey began to sing. Heads raised up from forgotten phones. Vague smiles drifted onto the turning heads of passers-by in the mall as they paused in their frenetic search for gifts. It wasn't so much that Honey's voice was beautiful, though it certainly was. It was more that when Honey sang, it seemed to make the things that didn't really matter melt away. To those that believed in such things, Honey's voice was magic. When she sang, people held their breath and didn't even miss the air. Honey closed her eyes as she sang next to Nina. It was a newly acquired habit. Though she had been taught to let her eyes slowly drift over the audience, letting them make a connection with each person as she sang, she didn't do that anymore. She knew he was out there. She felt his presence frequently as she worked, but it was only when she sang that he came out into the open. She couldn't hold her voice steady when she saw him watching her, so she closed her eyes and let the magic continue for the crowd. When the song ended, Honey opened her eyes as the crowd cheered, finding his powerful form immediately as if she had been commanded to look at him. Zach. He had changed a lot in the year since he brought his sister's children through the long Santa line, drawing her almost too-large dark blue eyes to him then, as easily as he did now. After bringing his nieces and nephews through the line, he'd gone home and brought all his neighbors' kids to see Santa in five more trips, watching her the entire time. He looked at her as if he'd never seen anything like her in the world, like he couldn't believe she was real. She had loved feeling his eyes on her then, hearing his voice. She had wanted to climb up in his lap, feel his large arms curled around her, whisper to him about how good she had been that year, and of how much she hoped he would make her wishes come true. Of course, all that was before he'd told her he wanted to kill her. Zach's face looked leaner now, though his body seemed even larger, if such a thing was possible. His brooding, deep-set eyes were not merry, as they had been when children climbed his tree-like body in her line last year. They weren't nervously soft and adoring of every part of her, as they had been at their candle-lit dinner. His eyes weren't rageful or insane as you might expect from someone visiting their object of murderous hate, but rather; they were tortured, trapped. Pain and quiet desperation had taken up restless residence in the windows to his soul. Honey knew she shouldn't look at him so much, but she just wished she could understand what she had done wrong. Once the line of children and parents had cleared, it was long past the official closing time. Honey cleaned up the display and prepared it for the next day while Norman took one last lingering trip to the restroom. Her phone showed numerous messages from work friends from her other job asking where she was. The firm had planned a Christmas party at Gatsby's, a gorgeous club worthy of F. Scott Fitzgerald's glamorous hero. It was also the place where Zach had taken her on their first and last date. The Gatsby's waiter had looked stunned and confused when she shakily ordered herself an "angel shot," the code-phrase used to quietly ask bartenders or wait staff for help when you felt threatened, but after his initial shock, the waiter immediately escorted her secretly to a taxi waiting outside before Zach returned to the table. Gatsby's had saved her life; but she didn't want to go back there. After avoiding call after call from Zach, she finally answered and politely asked him never to call her again. To her surprise, he didn't. He never spoke to her again. Unless she sang, she never even saw him, but she felt his presence almost everywhere. It felt like she was haunted by him; haunted by something wonderful and magical that, inexplicably, went horribly wrong. Her phone buzzed again, the display showing that the firm's senior partner wanted to FaceTime her. Steeling herself, she answered. "Honey Lane where in the hell; oh my god lookit you!" Aaron Timberman held the phone high above his head with his long ex-basketball-player arms and Honey saw a crowd of her co-workers crowd into the picture behind him. "Um, hi sir. Sorry I'm late to;" "You're an elf!" "Um, yeah. It's a volunteer thing;" "Wait, wait, wait; you have the shoes? You know, with the; toes?" he slurred, motioning his finger in a spiral motion. Honey bit her lips and tilted the camera down her body, showing her entire costume, tilting her foot to show off the curled toe. "I'm sorry it got late tonight, but I'll be there as soon as I can get home and get changed;" Timberman looked around at the crowd surrounding him, "Guys, do we wanna see Honey Lane here at the party in some boring old Anne Klein shit, or do we want the elf?" he yelled, pointing at the screen. Behind him, almost a dozen of her co-workers began chanting "Elf, Elf, Elf, Elf!" "Get yer ass over here, Elf," Timberman ordered, poking at his screen several times before effectively ending the call. A few minutes later, Norman finally came back from the restroom and gave Honey a ride over to Gatsby's in his red SUV bedecked with a bumper sticker that read, "My other car's a SLEIGH!" Honey hopped out after getting bits of advice from Norman that would have been appropriate several decades ago. With flaming cheeks, she brushed the furry white pompom from her hat out of her face and told the smirking ma tre d which party she wanted, sighing when he grinned widely and escorted her through the middle of the main dining area, much to her horror. When the doors to the party room opened and she was greeted by another round of "Elf, Elf, Elf, Elf," she didn't feel much better. She was starving, so she headed over to the buffet and began loading up a plate with delicious-looking things on ice in shot glasses, impaled on sticks, or immersed in flames. She just spied a quiet table in a dark corner and was winding her way toward it to it to scarf down her only food since breakfast before she could be drawn into a drunken debate. That was the plan, anyway. "Hunnybaby! Lookit you! C'mon we gotta dance!" Lee James slurred to her fur-trimmed tits. With a sigh, she smiled and laid her plate down on a nearby table, promising to herself that she would eat right after enduring a dance with the favored junior partner. Unfortunately, after Lee angled her awkwardly around the dance floor, they'd drawn so much attention that everyone wanted to get pics of themselves toasting and dancing with the Christmas elf. At some point, she found herself in Timberman's arms with a glass of champagne in her hand. "Um; what?" she said, almost asking herself how she had gotten there. "I said you look lovely, tonight, Honey. Much better than in a shawl and sheath dress," he said, quickly twirling her around as they reached the edge of the dance floor. "Twirling makes my skirt go up; I'm dizzy," she murmured. A familiar dark figure flashed in the background and disappeared as Timberman turned her again. She looked around, trying to find the figure again, but she couldn't see him anywhere. Why was he there? Had she been singing again? "Well, I'll make sure nobody twirls you, my dear," he said, twirling her and smiling as her skirt flew up her long candy-cane striped legs. "The wives wouldn't like it." "I like your wife's dress Mr. Timberman; looks warm. It covers her ass when she sits, too," she slurred, frowning in confusion at the dark red drink in her hand now. Zach was frowning, and then he just looked blurry again as she swirled around. Maybe swirling made it harder for him to kill her. Why did he want to kill her? It just wasn't fair. Timberman leaned down and dipped her, "I'll make sure to give her your compliments. You know, if you like what wives wear, you should consider getting married. Lee is quite taken with you, you know," he said, stroking his hand against the soft pink velvet of her dress. Honey found herself drifting away and wandering inside her head again, thinking about Lee; he was handsome in an overly-polished way, said funny things, but they always sounded a little mean, like he wanted to be the only one laughing; and he also took her away from the food plate that just floated by on a table. It was still full. She should have eaten that food. What time was it? "He likes my boobs; and he doesn't want to kill me," she agreed eventually, surprised to find that Timberman was gone and she was dancing with Lee James again. "Well, I can't blame him for that; they're fucking perfect; just like everything else. I'm gonna come on them after you suck me off; he murmured, pulling her closer against him. "Let me take you home, Honey; penthouse view of the city; "Umm; no, that's not home; I live in the; railroad place; with the trains?" Honey explained, pointing in what she thought was the direction of the Lowertown Commons. Why did every guy think she lived with them tonight? "Sounds charming, Eliza Doolittle; you should trade up. You don't know how much I'd love twist your arms back and fuck this ass wide open over my balcony tonight," he said, reaching his hand under her skirt and greedily squeezing her bottom. "You'd like that, wouldn't you Honey? I can tell; Lee whispered, his cologne invading her head and making her queasy. "I feel sick; Honey whimpered and staggered away, trying to find the quiet table where the food was that would make her less drunk. The dance floor was confusing, though, always turning around and thumping and flashing. She leaned against a pillar until she got a better sense of where she was. She liked the pillar. It was big and strong; and it stroked her hair. "Honey; wake up, Honey. Open your mouth. You need to take these," the vaguely familiar voice said, cutting through the sleep that had been blocking out some of the pain she felt everywhere. She obediently opened her mouth and the hand put two caplets on her tongue. A water bottle squirted a little cool liquid into her mouth until she moaned and sucked harder, desperate for more. "Not too much. Wait until you can hold that down. I'll give you more in a bit. You don't want that IV back, do you?" "Nuh" Honey groaned. She hated needles. Sure, just about every part of her body hurt more than a needle did, right now, but somehow needle pain felt personal. Like with Zach. He didn't seem like someone who went around wanting to choke everybody; just her. She was nobody special; just a simple girl who kept lawyers organized and tried to be nice. Then, someone wonderful like Zach thought she needed to die. That hurt. Something about her made him go from being tender and intensely loving to someone who; it just didn't make sense. What did she do? Mercifully, sleep faded the pain and clouded her thoughts. Voices below her intruded into a wonderful dream where she was bouncing on clouds. Though not in the same room, the voices seemed strangely clear. "I can't; Terry, she cries when I do that," the pills voice said, making her eyes fly open. She knew that voice. She hadn't heard it for a year, but she would never forget it. Her body reacted with a confused mix of emotions, her cheeks flushing and adrenaline searing a path all through her at the same time. "That's because it hurts her. You know what hurts more? Bedsores. Man up. Use the pillows to prop her weight against the parts that aren't hurt on whichever side. It's either this, or she goes back to the hospital, and I have it on good authority you won't be allowed to visit after what happened." "She was screaming; Zach gritted. "Yeah, well they were putting her shoulder back in. People scream. That still doesn't excuse what you did. Since when did you become such a pussy about pain?" Terry asked. "since her." "oh my god." "Shut up," Zach grunted. "Oh my god; "Yeah, that's not shutting up." "The great Z-dog has been taken down;" "Shut up, maggot, it's not like that. I'm just taking care of h;" "By a little bitty pink Christmas elf; Terry laughed. There was a scuffling sound and then a loud whoomp and a forceful exhalation of air. "So, I turn her every few hours until she can do it for herself?" Zach asked, casually. "Yes, sir," Terry choked. "Anything else?" "Clear liquids until she can hold stuff down. Talk to her. Ask her questions. If she seems disoriented or part of her face goes slack, she goes back to the hospital. Don't fuck around." "Got it. Are you squared away, or do we need to discuss this further?" "Squared away, sir," Terry choked, then gasped in relief, panting faintly. "Jesus Christ, you haven't lost your touch. We on for the hump tomorrow at 0 500?" "No. I'm gonna stick close here until she's;" "Got it. Hey, maybe they have those Baby Bjorn things in elf-size. Then, you could just strap her onto your ba; ow! ow! ow, ow, ow!" "You weren't particularly attached to the rest of that sentence, were you, maggot?" Zach growled. "Sir, no sir; Terry squeaked. "I didn't think so. You'll be back here Wednesday," Zach stated, more as an order than a question. "Yeah, if you want me to. Honestly, right now she just needs rest and TLC more than a medic. That stands for 'tender loving care' by the way, not;" "You were just going," Zach said, as the voices moved to another end of the room below her. "Hey, you wanna know what makes an elf's toes curl up like tha;" Terry asked, his question cut off by the slamming of the door. Honey listened, trembling and terrified as Zach paced the floor below her. Though his voice hadn't changed, he sounded nothing like the man that had wooed her so tenderly a year ago. He sounded dangerous, brutal even. He definitely sounded like the kind of person that went around wanting to choke everyone, she thought, strangely relieved that her heartbreak felt a little less personal. How could she have been so wrong in her impression of him? She looked around the room, understanding now how the voices had reached her so easily. She was in an open industrial loft bedroom that opened onto the main floor below. Looking around, she realized she must be in Zach's huge bed, though if the crisply made side next to her was any indication, he hadn't been sleeping in it with her. Looking down her body, she gasped quietly. Her left arm was in a sling strapped to her chest, her legs were covered in bruises, and the right leg that was being stabbed with an invisible knife right now, was wrapped up in an air cast boot. What had happened to her? The last thing she remembered was feeling sick as she tried to get away from Lee's groping hands on the dance floor. After that; nothing. How did she get here? A beeping noise sounded below and Zach walked across the room to what sounded like a kitchen. The sound of water being poured into a cup, the ringing of a spoon stirring it, a pill bottle being opened. Honey shivered, realizing he was probably coming up to her, soon. She closed her eyes and tried to slow her breathing, feigning sleep. Steps ascending to the loft bedroom. Ankle stabbing, stab, stab, stab, stab with every panicked heartbeat. A tray went down on the nightstand next to her. A chair across the room was lifted and set down by the bed. Honey told herself to breathe slowly, willing the tears welling behind her lids not to leak out of her eyes. He would leave her alone if she was sleeping, wouldn't he? "You're not sleeping," Zach's voice stated, quietly, and her stomach clenched in fear. "You've been waking up for these pills every four hours like a junkie. I know you don't want to talk to me, Honey, but until you're squared away, you're gonna have to. So, cut the crap, open your eyes, and let's get this done." Honey opened her eyes to see his grim face looking down at her. With one blink, large tears rolled down her pale cheeks, and Zach's jaw set angrily. Sitting down in the chair, he put his elbows on his knees and leaned his massive shoulders forward, looking at her. His hands looked like they could crush rocks as he gripped them together. "Let's get some things straight. I don't know what you think you know about me, but acting like I'm some kind of psycho is pretty shitty. You want nothing of me, that's fine, but you're hurt because you screamed and flung yourself down some stairs rather than let me help you to an Uber. You're staying here until you're well, because some shithead at that party gave you enough roofies to be in a coma for almost 3 days and I'm not dragging my ass to that rat trap of yours in the Commons every day to make sure they don't come back while you're weak. Are we clear?" he asked. Honey swallowed and nodded, wincing at the pain in her neck and head. That just seemed to make Zach angrier. "While you are here, you will do as you're told. You will eat what you get, and you will not complain. You see these, here?" he said, holding up the magic caplets that made everything better. "These are the last ones you're getting. I'm switching you to ibuprofen and Tylenol because, unchecked, this Sackler shit will fuck you up for good and that's not happening on my watch. Do you understand?" he asked. "Yes," Honey whispered. At the sound of her voice, Zach's mouth twitched, but at least he didn't look as angry as when she'd nodded and winced. "You will follow your doctor's orders to the last goddamn word. You will rest. You will do your therapy. You will let me help you and you will ask me for what you need because I am not a fucking mind reader. And so help me, if you do anything stupid like get out of that bed without me here to help you, or push yourself away from me like you did at Gatsby's, or any other drama shit that hurts even one hair on that head again, I will personally make you regret you were ever born." "Yes, Zach," Honey breathed, confused. Two more tears rolled down her cheeks. Without thinking, she leaned over to wipe them off on her shoulder and cried out in pain. Zach squeezed his clenched hands together and several of his knuckles cracked. "You don't use my name. You don't get to use my name. You're not getting under my skin again, you hear me?" Zach growled, using his rough knuckle to wipe her tears. "Orders a fucking angel shot in my own fucking club; fuck you. I don't have a name, you don't have a name. You're nothing to me. Understand?" "Yes, sir," she whispered. Honey leaned forward and took the last spoonful of broth into her mouth and swallowed, looking longingly at the noodles at the bottom of the cup. Zach caught a drop of broth at the bottom of her lower lip with the spoon and returned it to her mouth. "No," he said, seeing where her eyes lingered. "I can do it," she pleaded. "Please; I haven't had anything solid since; how long has it been?" "I said, no. You throw up on another pair of my skivvies and I'll be doing laundry twice a week," Zach said, dabbing her mouth with a paper towel. "Why do I have to wear your boxer briefs anyway? They feel weird. They have this hole-flap thing; and there are some places that aren't supposed to feel a breeze," Honey said, lifting the blanket to look down at his underwear loosely covering her hips. "Are you complaining?" he asked quietly. Honey's eyes darted quickly to his face, "No sir," she murmured, looking down at her lap. "I just thought if I had some of my things here, you wouldn't have to do the laundry so much." "I'll worry about what I have to do, Honey," he said, unthinkingly using her name. Startled, she looked up to see his eyes wandering over her, his massive t-shirt sleeves going down past her elbows. She felt ridiculous and disheveled, but something about the way he looked at her made her hold her breath. Then, without another word, he slurped the noodles out of the cup and took the tray downstairs. After that, the two settled into a quiet routine of him feeding her, giving her medicine, and watching her sleep most of the day. She would sometimes awaken to the soft repetitive sounds of him running on a treadmill, or the clinking of him lifting weights downstairs where she couldn't see him. Then, he would go to the bathroom and shower. After his shower, he came upstairs again in his towel and took some clothes from his dresser before going back downstairs to change. Honey found herself looking forward to those few seconds each day, watching his droplet-covered torso twist as he leaned over his dresser. He frowned as he flipped through his carefully folded underwear. "You wearing the grey ones?" he asked, not looking at her. Honey peeked under the covers, "Um, yes sir," she replied. "I'm supposed to wear the grey ones today," he grumbled to himself. Honey didn't say anything. Zach was the one who picked out which underwear she wore today. He was the one who looked away while he painstakingly slipped the old ones off her hips and pulled the new ones over her boot and up her legs until her bottom was covered again. There was nothing about her life that wasn't chosen and executed by him. If he wasn't happy about the color of his underwear, that was his fault. Still, Zach kept rummaging around in his underwear drawer as if another crisply folded grey pair would somehow magically appear. Finally, rather than offend him by laughing, Honey spoke, "Um; you know, if they're clean, I could wear the pair I had on when I went to the hospital and you could have these. It would get you back on schedule; Zach lifted his head from the drawer and glared at her, as if he thought she was making fun of him. Honey held carefully still and shrugged her uninjured limb. She wasn't making fun, she just wanted to help. The movement caused the huge neckline to gape over to the side, revealing her bare shoulder. She waited as Zach stared impassively at her, the vein at his neck throbbing. After a long moment, he walked over and stood next to her, the tuck of his towel right next to her face. With every breath, she inhaled the scent of his wet body and the bar soap he used. A rivulet of water painstakingly slid from his chest and down his abdomen, until finally disappearing into the tightly twisted white cotton. Honey glanced up to see that he had been reading her face as she watched the droplet's progress. With a shaking breath, she blushed and pulled the covers higher with her good arm. With a twist of his mouth, Zach pulled the neckline back over her shoulder again and quickly left the room. That night, after leaving her with a video baby monitor watching her on the nightstand, Zach returned with a bag of her underwear and some of her nightgowns. After watching her excitedly sort through them, Zach pushed them aside and sat on the edge of the bed. "There were a bunch of boxes with tags on them in your living room. What's that about?" he asked. Honey's eyes dropped, "Oh; that's the charity gift thing for kids. You sign up and get them something they wished for and wrap it up so they can have something under the tree, when they wouldn't have something otherwise. It's nice, you know? I signed up for a bunch and I was supposed to wrap them and get them back to the law firm, but I guess; sorry kids," she trailed off. Looking furious, yet carefully impassive at the same time, Zach cursed under his breath and left again, returning with the packages and a huge stack of unused Styrofoam clamshells from Gatsby's, and dumped them on the bed next to her. For the next few hours, they "wrapped" the presents, Zach carefully fitting items into an appropriate-sized takeout box, and Honey trying to make them pretty with ribbons. As she watched him work, occasionally cursing under his breath, she found herself smiling at his frowning face when he was strategizing how to fit a basketball into three disassembled clamshells. "What are you laughing at?" he said, glaring when he caught her at it. "I wasn't laughing. I was smiling." "Why were you smiling, then?" he asked. "I guess; I just like you; sir," she said, glancing over at him. Honey saw a hopeful softness steal into Zach's eyes until he forcibly wrestled it down and a look of hooded sarcasm shaded them. "Yeah, well; fool me once," he sneered. Angry, Honey closed her eyes, blocking him out the only way she could. "You know, that's; that's not fair. Not after what you said; you scared me!" she said, frustrated that, once again, tears were rolling down her cheeks. Zach choked out a mirthless laugh, "I scared you? What did I say, Honey? What did I fucking say? God! I was on eggshells all night trying not to fuck it up with you and then you just; why? Those creeps you were dancing with at that party, those fucking 'nice guys' that drugged you, they were saying shit that made my skin crawl! I didn't even kiss you! I couldn't! I could barely breathe just for looking at you on our date; you looked just like a fucking angel. What did I say, Honey? What did I say?" Honey reached over and grabbed her phone, flipping through her photo album to a screenshot taken shortly before she blocked his number. "You didn't say it; you texted it. I remember watching you leave for the restroom thinking I'd met the love of my life and then you sent me this; she said, handing her phone to him. Zach took the phone, his face going from an angry red to pale horror in a matter of seconds. "This; this; he gasped, "I didn't; send this; to you; he said, shaking his head. "Whoever had your phone did, sir!" she said, emphasizing the last word, making him wince. "I spent the last year thinking you wanted to do that to me; to kill me. Every time I felt you watching me, every crowd I saw you show up in, every dark room I had to go into, that's what I thought about. I thought that a man I was head over heels about; that I could be so wrong about him. So, excuse me for thinking I liked you, sir. I promise it won't ever happen again!" Honey cried herself to sleep that night, refusing to speak to, or even look at Zach again. When she awoke, the bedroom was empty, and a glass of water and a pain pill were waiting on the nightstand. After swallowing the pill, she stared at the ceiling, furious. She didn't want to be there anymore, to be helpless and dependent on him, to obey all his stupid rules. He didn't deserve to take care of her. So, she tightened the straps on her boot and increased the air pressure to hold her broken ankle tightly enough to walk without her crutches. Then, she took off Zach's t-shirt, pulled on her elf dress, and called herself an Uber. It was when she saw the anticipated arrival time of 8 minutes that she realized her mistake. There was no way for her to get down from the loft and out of the apartment quietly in that amount of time. If she used the crutches, she would be able to descend the stairs quickly enough, but they made such a distinctive clicking racket that they would surely wake up her gorilla-like guard. If she hopped down the stairs on her good foot, it might have worked, but her good arm was on the opposite side and she kept losing her balance. Eventually she decided on the most painful course, of going down on her good and bad legs, using her good arm for support. Her boot thunked horribly the first few times, until she got the hang of it and could place it more quietly on the next step and then hop her good foot down to support it before the scream inside her could escape her lips. By the time she reached the bottom, though, she was shaking with pain and exhausted. Curiosity forced her to look around the rest of the apartment as she caught her breath, sitting on the bottom step. It was clean and unmistakably masculine. Exercise equipment took up a lot of the space not already claimed by a leather couch and TV arrangement. Zach lay on the couch, made up with sheets to act as a bed, his feet sticking out over the arm, his hand tucked under the back of his head, his chest rising and falling under the rumpled sheet. If she wasn't so angry, she'd find him handsome; or maybe he still was handsome, she thought grudgingly, closing her eyes miserably and looking away. Why couldn't he be ugly? Life wasn't fair. Uber. Right. Screwing up her courage for what was ahead, she stood and slowly hobbled across the hardwood floor, agonizing over every painful thump and noisy squeak until she finally reached the door. She unlocked the five locks on his large door, each of them being well-oiled and working perfectly. She expected no less of her anal-retentive, grey-skivvies-on-Tuesdays captor. Finally, she tugged open the heavy door to find endless flights of icy steel-mesh stairs leading all the way down to the street where her Uber was waiting. "Oh, you gotta be kidding me; she cried, breaking down into tears. A strong arm slid down around her waist and mercifully shifted her weight off her throbbing foot, "I know. It sucks. You should try it with a rucksack full of bricks," Zach said, leaning his head down and breathing into her hair. "I want to go home," she whispered. "Let me take care of you; please," Zach murmured into the top of her head, "I; it was my fault this happened to you. I scared you, I know that now; but, please believe me that I would never want to hurt or frighten you like that." "It wasn't just that text," she said, pulling her head away and looking up at him angrily. "All year, I never had a moment's peace. Even when I couldn't see you, I could feel you waiting in the quiet or dark places. Even if you weren't there;" "I was there," he confessed. "I was always there. I didn't understand what had gone wrong. You didn't want to talk to me, and the world just didn't make sense to me unless I knew where you were, what you were doing; unless I knew you were safe." "Maybe you knew I was safe, but I didn't! I thought I'd done something; that somehow I deserved to have this beautiful, scary monster hunting me. I couldn't stop thinking about what I'd done to destroy something that was so; wonderful." "You didn't do anything, Honey. Nothing at all. You were perfect. You were so perfect that I couldn't keep; you didn't do anything wrong. I never meant to send you that message; please, please believe me." "Why did you send it?" she asked, finally looking up into his eyes. The dark blue liquid pools of her eyes turned violet in the moonlight, and Zach felt a tightening in his chest. "I; I can't tell you that; but it was never meant for you." "You mean, you meant to send that message to someone else? To hurt them like that?" "Honey, I; Zach said, looking around, unable to meet her eyes, "Please, I can't; you wouldn't understand; my life isn't like that anymore." "I want to go home, Zach; please," she whispered. Zach closed his eyes for a long moment before he swallowed and nodded, looking like he was in more pain than she was. "I'll take you home tomorrow, okay? Or Terry will, if you don't want me to. He'll check the place out, make sure you're set up and safe there. You're tired, you're hurting, and your Uber's gone, now. Let me take you back upstairs and you can go in the morning. Please." At that moment, a throb of pain shot through her entire leg, and as angry as Honey was, she knew she couldn't face her empty apartment without a few more hours of rest. "Okay," she whispered. To be continued in part 2, Based on a post by Lingering Afterthought, in 3 parts, for Literotica.

Today, you are going to learn scientifically proven ways you can use your mind to upgrade your life, starting with your body, your energy, and your confidence. In this episode, Stanford professor and leading psychology and mindset researcher Dr. Alia Crum reveals the science behind how your thoughts shape your body, your energy, and your health. She's proven over and over again that your thoughts about exercise, stress, and food are working against you – and how you can change them. She'll explain that this isn't just about thoughts, but that you have settings in your mind that you need to change. This is not positive thinking. This is repeatable, evidence-based science behind mindset, motivation, and physical change. You'll learn: -The one mindset shift that makes healthy habits feel easier instead of exhausting -The groundbreaking studies proving your beliefs can change your biology -How to make workouts easier so you get fitter, faster -How the “settings in your mind” influence your metabolism, hunger, stress, and recovery -How to make healthy eating easier so you feel your best every day -How to stop fighting your body and start working with it -How to feel more energized, capable, and consistent without forcing yourself -How to overcome your worst fears so you don't let anything hold you back If you are tired of criticizing yourself, tired of your fears and anxiety, and tired of never seeing the results you deserve, Dr. Crum is going to teach you, step by step, exactly how to change the settings in your mind to achieve anything you want. Once you hear this, you'll start noticing shifts in places you never expected. For more resources related to today's episode, click here for the podcast episode page.  As a gift to listeners of The Mel Robbins Podcast, Mel has created a free 20-page workbook to help you make 2026 a great year. This workbook is designed using the latest research to help you get clear about what you want and empower you to take the next step forward in your life. And the cool part? It takes less than a minute for you to get your hands on it. Just sign up at melrobbins.com/bestyear. If you liked the episode, check out this one next: How to Create a Successful Mindset: The Science of Passion and PerseveranceConnect with Mel:   Get Mel's newsletter, packed with tools, coaching, and inspiration.Get Mel's #1 bestselling book, The Let Them TheoryGet on the waitlist for Pure GeniusWatch the episodes on YouTubeFollow Mel on Instagram The Mel Robbins Podcast InstagramMel's TikTok Subscribe to SiriusXM Podcasts+ to listen to new episodes ad-freeDisclaimer Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Poob was horrifically crippled during a production put on by Wubby and is possibly seeking litigation. But he's willing to drop it if he can get some walking around money.

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Claus (@tapir_ffm) and Wolfgang (@w_a_t_c_h_s_t_y_l_e) met with Jure von Ercigoj (@ercigojart) for a special conversation about two worlds that, at first glance, have nothing in common – yet form a fascinating connection.Since 1923, the Ercigoj family has been running their embroidery studio through now five generations. What began with intricate embroidered designs for the Church and elaborate flags for veteran societies, fire brigades, and hunting clubs evolved through decades of innovation into something extraordinary: The Ercigoj workshop has transformed embroidery from a textile decoration technique into a true art medium. Their self-developed technologies and techniques enable artworks today that you can only believe once you've seen them on their website.Jure combines two passions in one person: He is a master of embroidery art and a watch enthusiast. Applying this centuries-old craft to a watch dial was therefore only a matter of time. This inspiring conversation explored exactly this fusion – how over 100 years of tradition meets the fascination for watches, creating a unique combination of two crafts.Don't miss witnessing the union of these different worlds! (Link in bio)Make sure to check out the Cornely watches on https://watches.ercigoj.com/ and all the other art by Ercigoj. https://www.ercigoj.com/https://www.ercigojart.com/gallery/blue-horse-by-ercigoj/https://www.watchuseek.com/threads/diy-unique-embroidered-watch.5488163/Follow us on Instagram: @FifthWrist #fifthwrist #fifthwristradio #fifthwristradiopodcastIndependent Thinking Show is a place dedicated to showcasing the great people doing interesting and cool things in the world of horology.  To join our crew group chat then please email us at contact@fifthwrist.com and if you have time please leave us a review wherever you listen to our podcast.Theme Music for 2025 TheWrong Time by Silent Partner (via YouTube Free Music Channel)

Michigan Weather and Women: Part 4 Finding real love, at last. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Connected. Driving home the next day felt like waking up from some kind of dream until I pulled into our driveway and Munchkin came running out to greet me. As I was getting out to reassure him that he hadn't been abandoned, the reality of my life settled right back in. I went inside, and Lane and Mary grunted their hellos without looking up. Ah, home. I texted Erin that I made it back safely, and she replied almost immediately saying what a great night she had, and how much she missed me already. It was going to be a long three weeks until she rotated back to the hospital in Petoskey. Luckily, life was as busy as always, and time flew by. For the first time since I was a child, I could honestly say that I was happy. My happiness lasted until the day before Erin was scheduled to return. I got my first inkling that something might be wrong when I called to see if Wilma wanted me to pick up any groceries for her from town. She didn't answer, which was strange, and the call went to voicemail. Even if she was napping, she was a very light sleeper and would normally answer by the third ring. I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach, so I went straight to Wilma's to make sure she was alright. Everything seemed fine when I pulled into the yard, but there was no answer when I knocked on her door. I tried again, but there was nothing but an eerie silence. Fearing the worst, I grabbed the spare key from its hiding place and went inside. I called Wilma's name and, hearing no reply, went quickly through the house trying to find her. When I got to her bedroom, I could hear a low moaning sound from the attached washroom. I ran in and found Wilma collapsed by the bathtub. She had slipped and hit her head, injuring her hip and arm in the process. She didn't have her phone with her when she fell and had been unable to move, so who knows how long she had been lying there. I called 911 for an ambulance and then called Erin and suggested that she meet us at the hospital. It took forever for the paramedics to arrive, and longer still to get Wilma loaded into the ambulance. By the time I got to the hospital, she was already being triaged by their emergency team. I took a few minutes while I waited for an update on Wilma's condition to call the rest of the family and give them the news. Alison came directly to the hospital after class, and Sharon brought Mary and Lane as soon as they got home from school. Erin arrived a few hours later and broke down when she saw me. Finally, just after nine, the doctors gave Erin an update. Wilma was in rough shape; she was badly dehydrated and had a moderate concussion, a fractured wrist, and a bone bruise on her hip. It would take her weeks to recover in the hospital. The good news was that she would make a recovery, given enough time and support. Erin and Mary decided to stay with Wilma in the hospital while Sharon dropped Alison at her dorm and drove Lane back to the house. By midnight, Mary had nodded off in a chair in the corner of Wilma's room, while I waited outside with Erin. "You should go home, Davis. There's nothing else you can do tonight. Thank God, you found her; I am not sure what I would have done if you hadn't. I already lost Grampy; I am not ready to lose Gran as well. They are all I have." I wrapped her in my arms and pulled her close. "You have me, now, too. And the girls. And you know Lane would do anything for you, you just need to ask. I was serious about what I said in Grand Rapids, Erin. I love you." Erin pulled me closer but didn't reply. The following week was a rollercoaster of emotions. Wilma was improving far quicker than the doctors had anticipated, but she would still be in rehab for at least another two weeks. It was impossible to hide Wilma's accident from the rest of the family, and they descended on the hospital like vultures; or, more accurately, their lawyers descended on the hospital while, for the most part, they stayed far away where it was warm. The one exception was Erin's stepfather, who flew in the next day. "For Christ's sake, Erin. Haven't you done enough harm as it is? Do you want your Gran to die alone on the floor of that dingy old shack of hers? It's time for her to move into a care facility that can look after her. Be reasonable!" When he failed to persuade Erin to act on his behalf, his attorneys requested an emergency court order, alleging that Wilma lacked the capacity to make her own medical decisions, that Erin was not acting in her best interests, and that one of Wilma's children should be appointed as her legal guardian. Wilma was furious when she learned of his actions, but there was little she could do to stop him until she was discharged from the hospital. Both sides knew that her doctor's recommendation would hold a lot of weight with the judge, and it was not good news for Wilma when it came. "If Mrs. Anderson is to return home, she will require around-the-clock care and company. If such care can't be arranged, then I recommend that she be placed in a long-term assisted-living facility that can treat any lingering effects from her fall, and from her late-stage cancer." Erin took the news like a physical blow, and she staggered backward to a chair. We didn't have the resources for 24-hour nursing, and it would be impossible to arrange it with such short notice even if we did. "I'm sorry, Davis. I need to be alone for a while to think." She left without looking back or saying goodbye to Wilma, and I just let her go. I wanted to ease her pain, but I knew that there was nothing I could do. She had lost, and her family had won. I was despondent as I made my way towards the exit, so much so that I nearly ran into Alison who was finishing up her shift at the hospital. "You look terrible, Brother, what happened? Is Wilma alright?" I explained to her about the doctor's recommendation and Erin's reaction. "No one has had the heart to tell Wilma, yet. She's recovered from the fall, but this news is going to kill her." Alison looked at me for a minute, before her mouth quirked upwards in a smile. "I'll do it." "What do you mean? "I'll do it. I'll look after Wilma. I am wrapping up my clinical practicum tomorrow, and I was planning on working this summer. I will look after Wilma instead. Mary can move in with us as well, and I can teach her what she needs to know to care for her when I'm not there. Once her school year is done in June, she and I can spell each other off, and I can still pick up some shifts here and there." It was an amazing offer, but I couldn't let her do it. "Alison, I can't ask you to give up your job for the summer. You need that money for your living expenses at school." "You're not asking; I'm offering. And since you've paid for my tuition so far, I am debt-free and can take out a loan to cover my last term." "I didn't cover the tuition, it was your;" "Davis. Really? Our mother, who never met a five-dollar bill she couldn't snort or inject, left me a college fund? Please. I am not an idiot. I love you, Big Brother, and I love what you have done for me and the others, but it's my time to step up now as well. Let me do this." I felt a heaviness lift from my chest as I hugged Alison and lifted her off her feet. I tried to reach Erin to let her know about Alison's offer, but I drove to her apartment, and she wasn't there, and she must have turned her phone off. I figured she must have gone to Wilma's, so I headed that way. I pulled in just as the sun was setting and found her SUV parked in the laneway, crosshatched by the lengthening shadows of the trees. I parked and saw a lone figure at the end of the dock, still wearing her scrubs. I could see whitecaps on the waves as they smashed into the dock, and I knew she must be freezing, so I grabbed my jacket out of the back of the truck and went to join her. The footing was treacherous, with patches of ice hidden by the gloom and spray, but I made my way carefully to Erin and wrapped my jacket around her shoulders. She closed her eyes and leaned back against me. "Am I doing the right thing, Davis? Gran could have died. She would have died if not for you. Can we risk that happening again? Am I just holding on to the past?" When she was finished, Erin lapsed into silence. "You are doing what Wilma asked you to do. I know your stepfather says that she isn't mentally competent, but I tell you, if she's not mentally competent then none of us are." "But it doesn't make a difference anymore. You heard what the doctor said, and I can't go against her recommendation." "You don't have to, Erin. Alison has offered to move in with Wilma to look after her, and she will teach Mary to look after her as well. Between the two of them, Wilma can stay in the house until the fall, at least, and then we can see." Erin turned towards me in her excitement but lost her footing on the slippery dock and fell backward into the water, pulling me with her. Now, in the summer, that kind of accident might be cause for some laughter and an embarrassing story around the dinner table. In late April, however, spending any time in the frigid waters of Lake Michigan could rapidly prove fatal. The shock from the cold when Erin hit the water caused her to gasp involuntarily, and she took in a mouthful. I had a half-second longer to prepare myself and managed to keep my mouth closed as I submerged, but I could immediately feel the cold in my extremities. The ladder that would normally have been at the end of the dock had been taken out for the winter, so we had no choice but to make for shore. Time compressed as I struggled to pull us through the water while Erin coughed and vomited. Finally, we dragged ourselves onto the shore, wet and shivering. I felt clumsy and weak from the cold, and my clothes felt like they weighed a hundred pounds, but I wrapped my arm around Erin's waist, and we started stumbling toward the house. By the time we got there, we were both shivering uncontrollably and my hands were numb from the cold. I knew we needed to get warm, but it was like my brain was in a fog and I couldn't get my limbs to move the way they were supposed to. So, I did the first thing that came to mind, and started feeding paper and kindling into the fireplace, while Erin went to the linen closet and grabbed a stack of towels. She stripped off her wet scrubs while I got the fire started, and then she helped me get undressed as well. When I felt a little feeling return to my fingers, I fed a larger log onto the fire and then went and got a large comforter which I wrapped around us as we shivered in front of the fire. Eventually, our shivering subsided as our bodies warmed up, and Erin laid her head back against my chest. "I'm not ready for her to go. I'm not ready to be all alone again." "You're not alone anymore; not unless you want to be. I love you, Erin." I felt her relax back against me. "I love you too, Davis, and I'm sorry." "For what?" "For pulling you into the lake like a dumbass; fuck, that was cold." Chapter 6. Wilma's family insisted on taking their emergency petition to court, over Wilma's continued objections, but once the judge learned that Alison, a trained nurse, was going to be staying with her, their decision was an easy one. And let me tell you, Wilma's mind was still sharp as ever, and she made it clear both to her doctors and, eventually, to her family and the judge, that she wanted to go home. Erin's stepfather was beside himself with anger after they lost the hearing. "Why do you insist on delaying the inevitable like this? Wilma is dying. We know it, she knows it, the doctors know it. You're the only one who won't accept it. She would get better care in a facility with real nurses here in town, rather than relying on a student, a little girl, and whatever time you can give her at home. The next time she has a crisis maybe we won't get so lucky, and it will be on your head." Outwardly, Erin looked as smooth and unbothered as glass as her stepfather screamed at her, but her hand was squeezing mine so hard that I thought she might break a bone. Luckily, before I could say anything to make matters worse, Wilma intervened. "What is it that makes you so damn sure that you know what's best for everyone else? You're right, I'm dying. There is nothing that anyone can do about that. If I happen to fall again and speed the process along, so be it. But don't you dare pretend that you care one iota about my health or happiness, or your stepdaughter's happiness for that matter. The only thing you care about is getting your wife's inheritance faster. Is your business doing so badly that you can't wait until I die? It seemed like she had scored a direct hit, as his face turned solid red as he started to stammer out a response, but she dismissed him before he could even begin. "Now go away and leave us in peace. You will be back here for my funeral soon enough, and no one wants you hovering around, hoping to speed it up." A week later, Wilma was released from the hospital, and we brought her back home. Alison moved in right away, along with Munchkin, and Mary soon followed. On most days, James would come by to pick Mary up for school and then drop her back afterward. Alison stayed with Wilma during the day, and Mary covered most of the evenings. Erin came by to help whenever she could, and I did my best to keep them stocked with supplies. It wasn't perfect, but it worked and, more importantly, it made Wilma happy. She didn't talk much about her cancer, but it was clear that it was getting worse. Mary noticed that she was eating less and resting more and that she had begun to take her pain pills in the morning as well as in the evening before she went to bed. Wilma was still adamant that she wanted to stay in her home, however, and continued to teach Mary all she could about art and life. In early June, I had stopped by to visit Wilma and the girls late in the afternoon and I was still there when James dropped Mary off from school. He escorted her into the house but then stood awkwardly in the entranceway rather than leaving. "Mr. Crawford, could we talk for a minute, if you have the time?" I shook my head in amusement. No matter how many times I told him to just call me Davis, Mr. Crawford, I remained. "Sure, I was just finishing up with Wilma," I replied as I gave Wilma a gentle hug. She felt more like a bird at that point than a person, just skin hanging on fragile bones held together by her indomitable will. James looked worried as we went outside. "This may not be any of my business, but yesterday, when I got home from school, Calum and my dad were on a conference call with some officials from the county and Wilma's son and one of her granddaughters, the lawyer. I didn't mean to eavesdrop or anything, but they were on speaker, and it was loud enough that I could hear them in the kitchen. "They were saying that when Wilma dies, her estate is being divided up equally amongst all of the children and grandchildren, but there is a part of the will that states that the land by the lake can't be sold or developed. From the sounds of it, however, once Wilma is gone, the county is going to seize that land, using eminent domain, to create a public boat launch, since Wilma's dock is the only four-season dock for at least ten miles in either direction. They will fix it up and then sell the rest of the land to the McDougals for development. "So, Wilma's family will get their money when the county forces the sale, and the McDougals will get their land. The only person left who might make a fuss would be Erin, but they figure she will fall in line once she sees the big fat check from the county." Listening to James' story made my blood boil. I hated the kinds of rich pricks who used their money and their purchased politicians to run roughshod over the rest of us. I just wasn't sure if there was anything that we could do to stop them. I thanked James for the heads up and went to speak with Wilma once he left. I expected Wilma to be as filled with rage at her family's treachery as I was, but she seemed remarkably calm about the whole thing. "Thank you for sharing this with me and thank James for his candor. He must have been deeply conflicted between his loyalty to his family, and his desire to do the right thing. Now, as to what we are going to do about this, we are going to do nothing. I don't want you to mention this to Erin or Mary, it will just worry them and make them upset. And you have more important things to do than to rage against a bunch of duplicitous assholes. Leave this one with me. "Now, why don't you go outside, take that shirt off, and start chopping some wood or something equally manly? Erin will be here soon, and you know how she likes to see you when you have worked up a sweat." I didn't know exactly what Wilma had planned, but for the next few days, she spent a lot of time on the phone. Towards the end of June, a very well-dressed older man in a tailored suit was leaving her house just as I was pulling in. It was clear that he had been there before since Munchkin ignored him and came over to give me an enthusiastic greeting instead. The man gave me a friendly smile as he put his briefcase in his top-of-the-line Lexus SUV before walking over to introduce himself. "Brantford Sage," he said holding out his hand. "You must be Mr. Crawford. Wilma has told me a lot about you. With everything she said, I was kind of expecting you to be seven feet tall and wearing a cape." I laughed at the image. "It's nice that she thinks so highly of me, but she gives me too much credit. And please call me Davis." "Well, Davis, and please call me Brantford, I have known Wilma for more years than you have been alive, and I have never heard her talk about anyone the way that she talks about you, except for Phillip, of course. And we all know how she felt about Phillip." I knew that it was none of my business why Mr. Sage was visiting Wilma, but my desire to protect her overrode any hesitation on my part about speaking out. "I am sorry if it's rude of me to ask, Mr. Sage, but what is your business here with Wilma? As you may know, her own family, along with a local family of some prominence, have been waging a campaign to get Wilma to sell this land. You are not here on their behalf, are you?" "I can assure you, Davis, that I am only here as a favor to Wilma. I normally split my time between our offices in Detroit, New York, and London, but when Wilma calls, I make it a priority to answer. I am sorry that I can't say more about my business here, attorney-client privilege, but you can ask her yourself if you would like." "It's all good. Wilma is still sharp as a tack, and even if she has lost a step or two, she is still twice as smart and four times as wise as I will ever be." "Well, I should be going. But sadly, I am sure I will see you again, soon enough." By the end of the summer, it was clear that Wilma's adventures were almost done. When she worked with Mary, she would often fall asleep in the comfortable chair in the corner. She had never had a large appetite, but recently, it had dwindled almost to nothing. Erin was very worried and suggested that it was time to move her Gran into hospice, but Wilma wouldn't hear of it. "This house has been my home for more than 60 years; I am not going to leave it now. It would miss me too much, and I can't have my home pining away over me. There is nothing more depressing than a sad home." Even Munchkin, the dog with boundless energy, became more subdued and often sat a quiet watch over Wilma while she slept. Finally, on the last Sunday of August, I got the call I had been dreading. I could hear Mary's voice on the other end of the line, holding back tears. "Gran says she's too tired and it's time to stop fighting. She told me to call you and Erin, and ask you to come;" I could hear the sobs building in her as she spoke, "to say goodbye." "Is James there with you, Mary?" "I called him. He's on his way." "I will call Erin and then go and pick her up. She won't be in any condition to drive." I figured the odds of there being a speed trap on the highway to Petoskey before 7 AM on a Sunday were slim to none, so I made it to Erin's apartment in record time. She must have been watching for me out of her window, as she threw herself into my arms before I was fully out of the truck. "I am so sorry, Honey," was all I could say, and I just held her in silence until the waves of grief that wracked her body had subsided. "We should get going," I said, not knowing what else to say. Maybe I should have told her that "Everything would be alright," but I suspected that it would be a while before that was true. But that was okay. People grieve in their own time. Erin held my hand tightly as we started the drive to Wilma's. "Why don't you tell me some of your favorite memories with your Gran and Grampy?" Erin remained silent for a few minutes, but once she started talking, the floodgates opened wide. She told me about the first time that her parents dropped her at the airport when she was only seven. How scared she was of these strange older people she didn't know. Phillip had seen her fear, and rather than trying to comfort her; how do you comfort a child whose parents have abandoned them; he had taken her for a long walk down by the lake. She remembered the sound of the wind blowing off the lake, as Phillip told her stories about their past. She remembered the summers she spent with Gran and Grampy as a teen. By that point, she had grown into a beautiful young woman, and her parents wanted to show her off to their important friends in Europe and places further afield. But she had already chosen to spend her time with the people that she loved. She spoke of coming to see them when she was in college. Of the awful year that Phillip got sick, and her grief at his passing. She said that her parents came to Good Hart for the funeral, but it felt like she and Gran were the only people to truly grieve his loss. She fell silent as we pulled into Wilma's laneway. "Go and see your Gran. Let me know what you need, Honey. I am here for you." Despite her grief, Erin looked at me as she took my hand. "What about you? What do you need, Davis? You love her too." "People show their love in different ways. I never really got the chance to give or receive love as a child, at least not in the way that most of us think of it. But being with you has made me realize something important about myself; I take care of the people I love. So, let me take care of you, Mary, and Wilma, one final time." By that point, Mary and Munchkin had come outside. Mary's eyes were red, and you could see the tracks that her tears had left on her cheeks. I got out of the truck and just held her for a minute. Erin came up behind me and enveloped her as well. Munchkin, mourning in his own way, stood watch for us, keeping us safe as we grieved. "Mary, you don't have to be here for the end if it's too hard. You can say goodbye, then take the truck and go and meet James. We can let you know when it's over." She just shook her head. "Where is she?" Mary led us into the living room. The wisp that remained of Wilma was in the comfortable chair by the fire. She had been a very small woman when we met less than a year before, but now she looked almost ethereal. Like the wind could slip right through her collecting her stories as it passed. She beckoned me over with one of her curled hands. "Davis, I am glad that you're here. I know I am a greedy old biddy, but I have three favors to ask, and I don't have a lot of time left to do the asking." "Of course, Wilma. You know I would do anything for you and Erin." She closed her eyes for a moment to collect her thoughts. "The first favor is that I need some time alone with my girls. I am sure James will be here in a minute; he is a good boy, don't hold those assholes in his family against him. He loves our Mary. Go outside, and when he arrives, I want you to go down to the lake and set up the five Adirondack chairs, so they are all together and facing out over the water. Then come back up to me." "Of course, Wilma." I went outside and sat on the front steps, scratching Munchkin's ears as I waited. James pulled up less than ten minutes later and I explained what had happened, and Wilma's request. When we were finished at the lake, we walked back up to the house, with Munchkin following quietly on our heels. We let ourselves in and saw Wilma, Erin, and Mary pulled together in an embrace. I was hesitant to interrupt, but Wilma saw us and called us over. "There's your big, strong men. Girls, could you get some of the outdoor blankets for James to carry down to the lake for us? And Davis, my second favor is for you to carry me down to the lake one last time. Would the rest of you give us a few minutes before you follow?" I picked Wilma up from the chair and wrapped her in my arms. She felt almost weightless, but I saw hints of her mischievous smile as we started walking. "You know, the last time a man carried me like this, the journey ended very differently." I couldn't help but smile, even at the end Wilma was still quick with the teasing and innuendo. "I bet you wish it was that other man carrying you now," I joked in return, but Wilma just rested her head against my chest. "No. No, I don't, Davis. I will see that other man soon enough. I am well content to be here with you. I am so proud of you. You are such a good and faithful man. It is a lot to ask of you, but for my third favor, will you look after my girls when I am gone?" By that point, we had reached the shore, and I set Wilma down in the middle chair of the five. "You don't need to ask, Wilma. Of course, I will look after them. Because you asked it of me, and because I love them just like you do." Wilma smiled and reached out to take my hand while she pressed three small objects into my palm. I looked down and saw that she had removed her engagement and wedding rings and given them to me. They were joined by an almost identical wedding band that must have belonged to Phillip before he passed. "You will know when the time is right for these. I would have liked to have been there to see it, though. Through these rings, maybe Phillip and I can continue to be a small part of your love for each other, even once we're gone." James and the girls had started down the path to the lake and would reach us in a minute. Before they arrived, Wilma gave me a final serious look. "All hell is going to break loose when they read my will after the funeral. Be there for Erin, please. The mistakes I made with my children are all my fault, but Erin will be left to bear that weight for a little while longer once I'm gone. It would mean a lot to a dying woman to know that she won't have to carry that weight alone." "I'll share that weight with her, for as long as she needs. For as long as she will let me." Wilma patted my hand. "That's good. I love you, Davis, but I think it's time." Mary and Erin arrived with James, and they made sure that Wilma was bundled in warm blankets as she looked out over the lake. Mary and Erin sat on either side of her and held her hands, while James and I sat at the ends. Munchkin settled against Wilma's feet, to keep them warm. After a while, Wilma started talking. She told stories about her life with Phillip; how they met, when they first came to this place, building a home, and raising their family. She spoke of their success as artists, and their failures as parents. She spoke of her regrets but also about her deep love for Erin and Mary, and how much she appreciated what they had done for her. She paused for a moment as the wind began to pick up, but we heard her last words before the wind carried the rest away. "You are all artists, and you are all worthy of love." She fell silent, and we sat for a long while listening to the wind off the lake. Epilogue. As always, Wilma was right. The reading of her will did indeed set off a firestorm, but she had made sure that we were ready for it. Do you remember Mr. Sage, that man in the suit who came to visit Wilma not too long before she passed? It turns out that he wasn't just an old friend, he was also a named partner at the largest law firm in the state and one of the most powerful firms in the country. It seems that Phillip didn't just paint portraits for the richest family in the state (you would recognize their name from the hospitals, museums, and other cultural institutions where it is featured prominently), but he also became a close family friend. You would never have known it, though, since Phillip refused to even acknowledge their friendship in public so that he didn't inadvertently trade on their name. Mr. Sage was also a good friend of that family and, over the years, became close with Wilma and Phillip, as well. After James told Wilma his story, she called those old family friends and, for the first time in their long friendship, asked for their help. She would never have done so for her own benefit, but she couldn't bear to think that Phillip's legacy would be lost because of the greed and treachery of his children. Within a day, Mr. Sage was working on a solution to Wilma's problem, and everything was signed and sealed well before Wilma passed on. The day of the reading of the will would have been comic if it hadn't also been so tragic. In the weeks after Wilma's death, her remaining children and grandchildren had gathered to express their deep sadness at her passing. Many black outfits were worn, and many sad faces were made. Not surprisingly, the entire McDougal family also showed up both to the funeral and to the smaller gathering at Wilma's house afterward. James stood with Mary, his arm around her shoulder, both to comfort her and to protect her from his own family, as best he could. The rest of the McDougal clan stood with Wilma's family and made sure to avail themselves of the free wine and hors d'oeuvres. As per her wishes, Wilma was cremated, and her ashes were scattered from the deck behind her house so that the wind could carry them towards the lake. Again, as per her wishes, the will was read immediately thereafter. The first surprise of the day came when Mr. Sage, who everyone thought was there merely to express his condolences at Wilma's passing, informed the family lawyers that the will in their possession had been revoked earlier that year. Both Wilma's family and their lawyers began to protest until the man formally introduced himself as a named partner at Sage, Bentley, and Carstairs, and as the new executor of Wilma's estate. The second surprise was the size and extent of that estate. The property by the lake was considerably larger than anyone had known and included a number of additional houses and cottages that Wilma and Phillip had acquired over the years. Unlike the previous will, however, that had left an equal share of the land to each of Wilma's descendants, the new one protected the entire property, in perpetuity, as part of a land trust that was established for the benefit and use of artists, local residents and even the Fudgies, when summer came to the lower peninsula. As part of the land trust, the dock was to be extended and reinforced and a public boat landing and park were to be built and maintained on the land, again, in perpetuity. Erin and I were named as trustees of the land trust, along with Mr. Sage and Mary, when she came of age. Given Michigan's strict laws around the use of eminent domain for private gain, there was no chance that the McDougals and the county would be able to move forward with their plans to seize the land. The third and final surprise was that Wilma and Phillip had done much better with the sale of their art and with their investments over the years than anyone had thought or expected. In addition to the property that was now in the trust, they had amassed a fortune in the low eight figures. Most of that money was left to manage the land trust, but a not inconsiderable amount was set aside to fund the college education of my brother and sisters and to pay off Erin's considerable student debt from medical school. The will also stipulated that the estate would pay for any costs that Wilma's family had incurred to attend the funeral (with receipts, of course.) Wilma's paintings were left to the public gallery in Grand Rapids and galleries further afield, with a few notable exceptions. Mary was given three paintings of her choice from the collection, that weren't otherwise named in the will. After much thought and consideration, she chose both the first and last works that Wilma had painted, both of which had been hanging in the living room, along with a small study of the house that Wilma kept in her bedroom beside a picture of Phillip and her on their wedding day. Erin was given Phillip's portrait of her as a young woman, and that portrait still hangs above our mantelpiece alongside his portrait of Wilma as a young woman, which she left to me. The only time they left our mantelpiece was when they were featured in a retrospective exhibit of their work at a museum in New York, but the house felt strangely empty when they were gone. Erin's family was furious at the changes in the new will. They threatened to fight it with every resource at their disposal. They tried every dirty trick they could think of, questioning Wilma's mental capacity in the months before her death, fighting the legality of the land trust, and trying to impugn our characters implying that we were gold diggers who wormed our way into Wilma's life to steal the family inheritance. In the end, though, the family's lawyers were no match for Brantford and his firm. When none of their ploys worked, Erin's family and the McDougals turned on each other, and the ensuing lawsuits are still ongoing to this day. I would love to say that that was the end of the McDougals, or that Erin's family came around in the end. Unfortunately, they are still just as terrible as ever. But at least their arrogance and corruption are now far enough away that we can safely ignore them. On a similar note, my mother is still absent from our lives. I don't honestly know if she is even still alive, although I assume that someone would have tried to find her next of kin if she had died. Sometimes, I am charitable and hope that she managed to face her demons and turn what's left of her life around. But most of the time, I am just glad that she is no longer able to hurt the people I love. After things settled down, Alison finished her schooling and became a nurse practitioner, as she had always dreamed of. In her last year of study, while she was doing a clinical practicum at a hospital in Detroit, she met a lovely internist who fell madly in love with her. Luckily for him, his feelings were reciprocated, and they are now married and living in Grand Rapids. They split their holidays between our family and her husband's family in Detroit, and they stay with us for a few weeks each summer. Their son is as thick as thieves with our daughter, and their imagination carries them through endless adventures together. Sharon was successful in her ambition to leave the peninsula and see more of the world. She finished her undergraduate degree in creative writing in Chicago before setting out to see the world, and she is still out there wandering. But she sends us lots of pictures when she gets the chance, and recently, Erin noticed that many of her pictures have the same very attractive woman smiling in the background. I think it was probably a coincidence, but Erin thinks otherwise. I sure hope Erin's right. There is nothing I want more than for my family to find love and happiness. When the spirit moves her to come home to us (with or without her friend), she will be very welcome. Mary spent months grieving her loss, but rather than turning inward, she channeled her emotions into a triptych of paintings that firmly established her as an upcoming talent in the world of art. She lived with us for several years until James proposed, at which point they moved into one of the cottages owned by the trust. Unfortunately, James' family found out that he told Wilma about their plans, and they disowned him. He had a few tough years, but Mary helped him through, and when he turned eighteen, I took him on as an apprentice. He now runs one of my crews. I used to worry that he loved Mary more than she loved him and that the imbalance would lead to heartache. My worries were put to rest when she painted her first portrait. James was her subject, and I have never seen a painting more suffused with love and desire. A few years later, a collector offered her an eye-watering amount of money for it, but she politely declined. As for Lane, well who knows what he will do with his life, but he is carrying a 4.0 GPA, and the world is his oyster. He was sure impressed by the lawyers who rained hellfire down on the McDougals, though, so I suspect that he might be leaning that way in the future. He is also building quite a following as a DJ, combining classics from the 40's and 50's with new beats. He recently started dating a new girl, and she is a real sweetheart. We haven't told her about the day that he met Erin for the first time; yet. But trust me, that time will come. But until it does, Lane is more than happy to keep up with his chores and help out around the house. But what he loves more than anything is to carry his rod out to the end of the dock and fish, while the wind off the lake plays through his hair. And then there is Erin and me. I have to say that things have worked out pretty well for us, in the end. It took less than a year for me to make use of Wilma's last gifts, and Erin and I were married the next summer in the new park down by the dock. Wilma left her house and a few acres of land to Erin, separate from the land trust, and we spent several years fixing it up and expanding it so that my brother and sisters know that there is always a place for them if they need it; for a day, a week, or a lifetime. I am still not the best at taking orders or following instructions; but gentle requests from the woman that I love, sealed with a kiss on my cheek? It turns out that I am more than fine with those. And I am still not always sure what a beautiful doctor sees in a plumber like me. But rather than let my insecurity get the better of me, I have learned to accept my good fortune with a smile. One tradition that we've adopted as our own is that we make time to dance together every Friday night. If we have guests, or family who are home, they know that they will be joining us as well; Wilma's 'no wallflowers' rule is still in full effect. Now that she is old enough, I am teaching our daughter to dance, and her favorite thing in the world is to twirl around the living room in her mommy and daddy's arms. Some nights, when it's just the three of us and our daughter has gone to bed, we let the soft crackle of Wilma's old 45s take us back. We dance together with the lights down low, the music threading through the quiet night like a whisper from the past. And when the music fades, we hold each other close and listen to the voices of those we have loved, as they linger in the wind off the lake. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts, for Literotica.

The Poem of the Man God is a retelling of the Gospel story of Jesus of Nazareth as recorded in the private revelations of Maria Valtorta. In this episode, we see Jesus and the Apostles at the Temple on Preparation Day. Original music by Angela Marie (Mohammed). Messiah. Savior. Passion of Christ. Religion. Wisdom. Miracles. Catholic Christian Theology. Apostles. Disciples. Believers. Followers. Early Church. Communion. Healing. Suffering Sacrifice. New Testament.

Daily Rosary with SPOKEN FEMALE VOICE with AMBIENT MUSIC by THE COMMUNION OF SAINTS ROSARY 2 United in Prayer.  Enjoy this week's collection of beautiful music to help inspire your prayerful intentions alongside this daily rosary. The spoken portion of this rosary features a female voice and is a little over 20 minutes long, with extended music for additional meditation. This rosary contains the sorrowful mysteries, recited on Tuesdays and Fridays. These mysteries focus on Christ's Passion and death, with fruits like sorrow for sin and patience. Be a part of the communion of saints in praying the rosary, as it connects you with the communal prayer of the universal Church and the saints throughout history, fostering a profound sense of spiritual solidarity.  May this Rosary become a faithful companion to your prayer life. Additional prayer tools at www.rosarywristband.com !!! SUPPORT OUR SAINTLY SOUNDS GREGORIAN CHANT CHANNEL !!!  Catholic Prayers sung in Latin using actual prayer lyrics https://youtube.com/@sonisancti?si=k-ybNdVGdo_dFTEt Link to Gregorian Chant Prayer playlist:  https://youtu.be/OVQfBVpJxVg?si=dZw92ColnO9Wv5As !!! SUPPORT OUR COMMUNION OF SAINTS CHANNEL !!!  Spoken Rosary & music featuring a MALE VOICE https://youtube.com/@rosarycompanion?si=J4-MKOKo3mnxwpIS **NEW**  30 MINUTE TRADITIONAL ROSARY - SORROWFUL FRIDAY - SPOKEN ONLY https://youtu.be/fZE1UwFbRE0 SPOKEN ONLY VERSION: Friday Rosary - SPOKEN ONLY https://youtu.be/KyCey-qH-lA MOST VIEWED FRIDAY ROSARY: Calm Music    https://youtu.be/tcryvk5IlmY MOST VIEWED ONE HOUR ROSARY DEVOTION: Complete Rosary    https://youtu.be/rrNMRJ5oH-Q MOST VIEWED SLEEP ROSARY: 4 Hour Sleep Rosary    https://youtu.be/4a-uaEEJOF4 Have you joined our Membership?  For only $1.99 a month, you can directly help this channel grow:  https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCLXCEpdy0etQAdEHB1z-oTg/join Or consider a donation through PayPal to help us continue creating quality content:  https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?business=CHerrera720037%40gmail.com&cmd=_donations¤cy_code=USD&item_name=Donation+to+The+Communion+of+Saints&return=https%3A%2F%2Frosarywristband.com%2Fhome All music in this video is licensed thru Epidemic Sound Publishing. Blessings, Chris - The Communion of Saints Email: chris@rosarywristband.com Simply, easy and quick rosary prayers for everyday recitation and reflection.   This collection of Catholic rosary videos in english serve as a daily devotion and feature calm background music and nature soundscapes.   Choose from audio only or follow along video with all mysteries: Joyful, Sorrowful, Glorious and Luminous.  Listen before sleep or any time for renewed focus and peace. "Together we pray" Visit rosarywristband.com for comfortable one decade rosaries. #Rosary #SorrowfulMysteries #CatholicMeditation #FridayRosary #todayrosary  #todayrosaryinenglish #dailyrosaryinenglish

Today's Daily Rosary - SPOKEN MALE VOICE with AMBIENT MUSIC by THE COMMUNION OF SAINTS ROSARY This week's collection of beautiful music welcomes you into a calm state of prayer as together, we offer up our intentions alongside this daily rosary. This rosary contains the sorrowful mysteries, recited on Tuesdays and Fridays  These mysteries focus on Christ's Passion and death, with fruits like sorrow for sin and patience. Be a part of the communion of saints in praying the rosary, as it connects you with the communal prayer of the universal Church and the saints throughout history, fostering a profound sense of spiritual solidarity.  The spoken portion of this rosary is 20 minutes, with extended music for additional meditation. May this Rosary become a faithful companion to your prayer life. Additional prayer tools at www.rosarywristband.com !!! SUPPORT OUR SAINTLY SOUNDS GREGORIAN CHANT CHANNEL !!!  Catholic Prayers sung in Latin using actual prayer lyrics https://youtube.com/@sonisancti?si=k-ybNdVGdo_dFTEt Link to Gregorian Chant Prayer playlist:  https://youtu.be/OVQfBVpJxVg?si=dZw92ColnO9Wv5As !!! SUPPORT OUR COMMUNION OF SAINTS 2 CHANNEL !!!  Spoken Rosary & music featuring a FEMALE VOICE https://youtu.be/8v2u3Sbhh4I?si=7CbWIGvgxquvNNQM **NEW**  30 MINUTE TRADITIONAL ROSARY - SORROWFUL FRIDAY - SPOKEN ONLY https://youtu.be/fZE1UwFbRE0 ROSARY - SPOKEN ONLY VERSION: Friday - SPOKEN ONLY https://youtu.be/KyCey-qH-lA MOST VIEWED FRIDAY ROSARY: Calm Music    https://youtu.be/tcryvk5IlmY MOST VIEWED ONE HOUR ROSARY DEVOTION: Complete Rosary    https://youtu.be/rrNMRJ5oH-Q MOST VIEWED SLEEP ROSARY: 4 Hour Sleep Rosary    https://youtu.be/4a-uaEEJOF4 Have you joined our Membership?  For only $1.99 a month, you can directly help this channel grow:  https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCLXCEpdy0etQAdEHB1z-oTg/join Or consider a donation through PayPal to help us continue creating quality content:  https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?business=CHerrera720037%40gmail.com&cmd=_donations¤cy_code=USD&item_name=Donation+to+The+Communion+of+Saints&return=https%3A%2F%2Frosarywristband.com%2Fhome Blessings, Chris - The Communion of Saints Email: chris@rosarywristband.com Simply, easy and quick rosary prayers for everyday recitation and reflection.   This collection of Catholic rosary videos in english serve as a daily devotion and feature calm background music and nature soundscapes.   Choose from audio only or follow along video with all mysteries: Joyful, Sorrowful, Glorious and Luminous.  Listen before sleep or any time for renewed focus and peace. "Together we pray" Visit rosarywristband.com for comfortable one decade rosaries. #Rosary #SorrowfulMysteries #CatholicMeditation #FridayRosary #todayrosary #todayrosaryinenglish

➡️ Snag Alberts Audio Book "Passion Punch To Success: https://payhip.com/b/jSFiH   ➡️ Want To Learn More About Partnering With Me at eXp (Get all my Training & Coaching For Free) Schedule a Zero Pressure, Fully Confidential Zoom Call with me: https://go.oncehub.com/PartnerwithJoshuaSmithGSD   ➡️ Connect With Me On Social Media: Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/JoshuaSmithGSD Instagram: https://instagram.com/joshuasmithgsd/   About Joshua Smith: -Licensed Realtor/Team Leader Since 2005 -Voted 30th Top Realtor in America by The Wall Street Journal -NAR "30 Under 30" Finalist -Named Top 100 Most Influential People In Real Estate -Top 1% of Realtors/Team Leaders Worldwide -6000+ Homes Sold & Currently Selling 1+ Homes Daily -Featured In: Forbes, Wall Street Journal, Inman & Realtor Magazine -Realtor, Team Leader, Coach, Mentor

Brian From moves from timely headlines about stolen packages, cash gifts, and aging bodies to deeper reflections on faith, passion, and purpose. Along the way, he contrasts the darkness of greed, cynicism, and exhaustion with the Advent promise that Christ is the light no darkness can overcome. As Christmas approaches, Brian invites listeners to ask a piercing question of their own lives: are we living with passion—and are we stepping fully into the marvelous light of Christ? 250,000 packages stolen per day, study finds, as lawmakers push stiffer penalties - CBS News Denny Burk on X: "Dane Ortlund’s 39 rules for preaching. Really good stuff. Here’s number 38: “Preach every sermon like your son is sitting on the last row and giving church one last chance."" / X Long-term study reveals physical ability peaks at age 35 Jared C. Wilson on X: "“You know, the Greeks didn’t write obituaries. They only asked one question when a man died: Did he have passion?” https://t.co/Aqg4dPI97Y" / X Most Americans think cash gifts are acceptable, poll shows | AP News Former Harvard morgue manager sentenced for selling body parts - CBS News The Light of Life - Christianity Today See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

TT's: We talk about the Cebu projects/floods (04:55)ODDiba?: A Snake ID Facebook Group (20:10)Where you bean?!: Rica talks about passion for her new job (29:01), and JC talks about some TV shows he watched (40:50)Follow Rica & JC on IG:@ricaggg@itsmejayseeLeche-Fan Mail:thehalohaloshow@gmail.comRecorded using the ELGATO WAVE 1 Microphones, go get one! Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

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.

Dans cet épisode de CHEFS D'ENTREPRISE-S, David Ordono reçoit Laurent Perlès, cofondateur de La Source, une école de cuisine pensée comme un lieu de transmission, de conscience et d'impact.Laurent raconte un parcours loin des lignes droites : une enfance marquée par la table, un rapport "compliqué" à l'école traditionnelle, des études à l'étranger, l'entrepreneuriat, la restauration, avant une prise de conscience progressive : le métier doit changer, et c'est par la formation que tout commence.Avec La Source, il ne s'agit pas seulement d'enseigner des gestes, mais de former des professionnels capables de comprendre leur époque :écologie, produits, conditions de travail, modèle économique, responsabilité sociale.Un échange dense et incarné sur l'éducation, la difficulté de créer une structure engagée, les choix financiers, les renoncements et la conviction qu'on peut entreprendre autrement sans renoncer à l'exigence.Un épisode pour celles et ceux qui pensent que l'avenir de la gastronomie se joue autant dans les écoles que dans les cuisines ;)Pour découvrir les formations dispensées par La Source, c'est par ici !

He may have announced that he'll not seek reelection next year, but U.S. Representative Dan Newhouse still has things he feels need to get done before he leaves office, like the Farm Workforce Modernization Act.

For a deeper study of God's Word, plus daily resources for your walk with Jesus, visit https://passionequip.com/.—With Passion City Online, you can join us every Sunday live at 9:30a and 11:45a, and our gatherings are available on-demand starting at 7p! Join us at https://passioncitychurch.com—Subscribe to our channel to see more messages from Passion City Church: https://www.youtube.com/passioncitychurch—Looking for content for your Kids? Subscribe to our Passion Kids Channel:https://passion.link/passionkidsonline —If you would like to give to our house, visit https://passioncitychurch.com/give/—Check out Passion's books, music, and more at https://passionresources.com/—At Passion City Church, we believe that because God has displayed the ultimate sacrifice in Jesus, our response to that in worship must be extravagant. It is our privilege and our created purpose to reflect God's Glory to Him through our praise, our sacrifice, and our song. —Follow Passion City Church: https://www.instagram.com/passioncity/ Follow Louie Giglio: https://www.instagram.com/louiegiglio Passion City Church is a Jesus church with locations in Atlanta and Washington D.C. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

For a deeper study of God's Word, plus daily resources for your walk with Jesus, visit https://passionequip.com/.—With Passion City Online, you can join us every Sunday live at 9:30a and 11:45a, and our gatherings are available on-demand starting at 7p! Join us at https://passioncitychurch.com—Subscribe to our channel to see more messages from Passion City Church: https://www.youtube.com/passioncitychurch—Looking for content for your Kids? Subscribe to our Passion Kids Channel:https://passion.link/passionkidsonline —If you would like to give to our house, visit https://passioncitychurch.com/give/—Check out Passion's books, music, and more at https://passionresources.com/—At Passion City Church, we believe that because God has displayed the ultimate sacrifice in Jesus, our response to that in worship must be extravagant. It is our privilege and our created purpose to reflect God's Glory to Him through our praise, our sacrifice, and our song. —Follow Passion City Church: https://www.instagram.com/passioncity/ Follow Louie Giglio: https://www.instagram.com/louiegiglio Passion City Church is a Jesus church with locations in Atlanta and Washington D.C. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

What does it take to turn a lifelong love of wine into an actual winemaking career when you don't know the first thing about making it? Christy Counts, Founder and Owner of Neverstill Wines in Hudson, NY, did exactly that — trading a career in business management and animal welfare advocacy for the uncertain world of winemaking. In this episode, Christy shares the reality of her pivot: the steep learning curve, the moments of doubt, and the patience required to build something meaningful in a tradition-bound industry. From her first days learning the craft to the milestones that made it all worthwhile, her story reveals what it really means to trust yourself and commit to a new path. If you've ever wondered whether it's too late to pursue a passion, this conversation is for you. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Support this podcasthttps://www.patreon.com/drumwithmikeandeddyIn episode 205, Eddy and I chat about our experiences with private lessons, both as students and as teachers. We discuss the importance of teaching drums not as a means to showcase what students can'tt do, but rather to identify and address the barriers preventing them from achieving their drumming goals. We throw a tad bit of shade at the rare instance when teachers try to establish dominance by showcasing their skills, and instead advocate for a more empowering approach that focuses on student needs and growth. Basically, don't be a jerk. LOL. We hope you enjoy this episode!Mike & EddySupport the show

Eric Perez emphasizes the importance of using our God-given gifts to serve others, illustrating how true leadership involves humility and sacrifice, much like Joshua's determination to prioritize serving the Lord amidst societal distractions.

#720 What if your next favorite travel recommendation came from a 60-second voice note instead of a blog post? In this episode, host Kirsten Tyrrel sits down with sibling co-founders Ramon and Lili Montes to unpack how they're building Limon — a social, short-form audio app that captures the “photo album storytelling” experience for travel, with a special focus on day trips. They share the origin story behind the name, the early mistake of trying to build an “all-in-one” travel platform, and the pivot that helped their vision finally click: quick, searchable audio stories paired with photos. Ramon and Lili also break down what it's like launching as non-technical founders, how they're growing through college campuses and community-building, and what's next — including monetization plans like ads and an AI storytelling companion to help users craft better travel narratives! What we discuss with Ramon and Lili: + Sibling co-founders building together + Origin story behind Limon + Pivot from all-in-one travel app + Short-form audio for travel + Focus on day trips + Trust-based travel recommendations + Gen Z & voice note behavior + Building an MVP + Community-first growth strategy + Monetization plans & AI tools Thank you, Ramon and Lili! Check out Limon. Check out Ramon Montes. Check out Lili Montes. Watch the ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠video podcast⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ of this episode! To get access to our FREE Business Training course go to ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠MillionaireUniversity.com/training⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠.⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ To get exclusive offers mentioned in this episode and to support the show, visit ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠millionaireuniversity.com/sponsors⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

In a world obsessed with speed, optimization, certainty, and AI-driven answers, this episode of Gratitude Through Hard Times offers a necessary pause. Chris Schembra sits down with Eric Stine, CEO of Sitecore, for a deeply human conversation about leadership, belonging, gratitude, and the courage to say yes before you feel ready. This is not a tactical episode about growth metrics or technology stacks—it's an exploration of what it means to lead, live, and connect in a time when instinct is being outsourced and humanity is at risk of being optimized away.Eric reflects on a 25-year career across some of the world's most influential enterprise technology companies, but reframes success through a different lens. Rather than crediting restraint or perfection, he points to saying yes as the defining strategy of his life, yes to unfamiliar roles, yes to reinvention, yes to creativity, fatherhood, philanthropy, and Broadway. Along the way, he opens up about imposter syndrome, those quiet moments of doubt that surface even at the highest levels of leadership, and why authenticity—not certainty—is what ultimately creates trust and psychological safety for teams.The conversation reaches back to Eric's eighth-grade years, when he felt like an outsider searching for his people. Theater became the place where he learned that difference wasn't something to hide, but something to bring forward, a lesson that continues to shape how he builds culture today. That theme of belonging becomes especially resonant in today's age of fragmentation and loneliness, where many people feel disconnected not because they lack opportunity, but because they lack spaces where they can show up fully as themselves.Midway through the episode, Eric answers the signature gratitude question, offering heartfelt thanks to his father, Mark, whose belief in living authentically influenced everything from Eric's leadership philosophy to a Tony Award win on Father's Day. The moment grounds the conversation in gratitude, not as sentiment, but as a force that shapes identity, values, and legacy across generations.This episode is especially important now because it confronts a growing cultural tension: while AI can deliver answers at unprecedented speed, it cannot deliver wisdom, belonging, or meaning. Eric draws a clear distinction between systems of record and systems of engagement, arguing that the future belongs to leaders and organizations that pair data with instinct, scale with empathy, and efficiency with humanity. In an era where people are burning out not just from work, but from hiding who they are, this conversation offers a different model, one rooted in community, peer-driven recognition, and shared accountability rather than control.Ultimately, The Power of Saying Yes is a reminder that culture cannot be engineered from the top down and growth cannot be achieved through optimization alone. Culture comes from community. Belonging comes from permission. And the most meaningful paths in life are rarely the safest ones. This episode invites listeners to slow down, embrace impermanence, and choose the more interesting path, not because it's easy, but because it's human.10 Key TakeawaysSaying yes creates momentum.Progress, growth, and meaning often come from leaning in before you feel ready—not from waiting for certainty. Authenticity is a leadership advantage, not a liability.When leaders model vulnerability, they unlock psychological safety and better performance across teams. Imposter syndrome doesn't disappear—it becomes a compass.Doubt is often a signal that you're stretching into something meaningful. Finding “your people” changes everything.Belonging fuels confidence, creativity, and resilience—whether in theater, business, or family. Gratitude is a strategic tool, not a soft one.Recognizing people for their impact on others builds trust, loyalty, and culture at scale. Culture cannot be built top-down.Leaders can only create the conditions; community does the building. AI needs humans in the loop.Data delivers insight, but instinct and empathy deliver relevance. Impermanence creates meaning.Moments matter more when we know they won't last—whether on stage, at work, or around the dinner table. Accountability is empowering when framed as ownership.We don't work in isolation—we work in ecosystems where shared responsibility drives excellence. The best life is an AND life, not an OR life.Passion and profit. Speed and care. Technology and humanity. Both can be true.Eric Stine BioEric Stine is the Chief Executive Officer of Sitecore, driving the company's vision and strategy to unlock business value for clients by empowering them to create compelling digital experiences. Eric was previously Chief Operating Officer, where he led all customer-facing functions.Before Sitecore, Eric was Chief Executive Officer of Elemica. Previously, he was Chief Commercial Officer of Skillsoft and Chief Revenue Officer of Qualtrics. Eric has also held executive roles at companies such as SAP, Ciber, and Blackboard.Eric earned a law degree at Boston University School of Law and a Bachelor of Arts at Northwestern University, where he and his husband are the founders of the Eric and Neil Stine-Markman Scholarships. They are the first permanent endowments at either institution directing funds toward LGBTQ+ students.He is based near New York City.

In this episode, Candice is joined by Carol Look, psychotherapist, EFT Master, bestselling author, and international speaker. With over 25 years of experience using Emotional Freedom Technique, Carol shares how her journey from traditional psychotherapy to tapping transformed both her personal healing and the lives of thousands of clients worldwide. In this episode, they discuss:What the Emotional Freedom Technique is and how it calms the fight or flight responseWhy gratitude practices often fail without addressing underlying stressHow EFT helps release limiting beliefs around worth, safety, and successThe connection between gratitude, manifestation, and nervous system regulationWhy self-sabotage is rooted in safety, not failureHow tapping supports emotional healing, physical well-being, and personal growth When we tap into gratitude with intention, transformation becomes possible! About Carol Look:Carol Look is a psychotherapist, Founding EFT Master, best-selling author, international speaker, and creator of The Yes Code, her signature coaching method. She combines her traditional training as a psychotherapist with clinical hypnosis and advanced applications of EFT for unprecedented results with her clients.Known for her laser-like focus and state-of-the-art approach, Carol has used EFT Tapping for over 25 years to help clients release their limiting beliefs and emotional conflicts so they can enjoy lives of exceptional success and fulfillment.Carol is a world-renowned EFT workshop presenter who has taught at The Omega Institute, Kripalu, The Eden Energy Fest, and the energy field's primary teaching conference, ACEP. Carol has taught workshops in England, The Netherlands, Belgium, France, Ireland, Canada, Australia, and all over the United States. She is a regularly featured energy medicine expert on leading global telesummits and in the field's leading documentaries.Carol authored the energy field's original book on abundance, Attracting Abundance with EFT. Her book, The Yes Code, became a #1 Amazon bestseller in several categories, solidifying her reputation as a leading voice in personal transformation. She has just released her newest book, Yes Thank You: Tapping Into the Superpower of Gratitude. When she's not working, Carol enjoys spending time with her family, listening to music, and walking in nature. Website: https://www.carollook.comcarol@carollook.comYouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@CarolLookEFTBook: Yes, Thank You: Tapping Into The Super Power of Gratitudehttps://a.co/d/6qgdB55-----If you're struggling, consider therapy with our sponsor, BetterHelp.Visit https://betterhelp.com/candicesnyder for a 10% discount on your first month of therapy.*This is a paid promotionIf you are in the United States and in crisis, or any other person may be in danger -Suicide & Crisis Lifeline Dial 988-----Connect with Candice Snyder!Website: https://www.podpage.com/passion-purpose-and-possibilities-1/Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/candicebsnyder?_rdrPassion, Purpose, and Possibilities Community Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/passionpurposeandpossibilitiescommunity/Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/passionpurposepossibilities/LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/candicesnyder/Shop For A Cause With Gifts That Give Back to Nonprofits: https://thekindnesscause.com/Fall In Love With Artists And Experience Joy And Calm: https://www.youtube.com/@movenartrelaxationClick this link to receive your FREE TRIAL to The Greenhouse Communityhttps://www.thegreenhousecommunity.com/checkout/the-greenhouse-membership?affiliate_code=11e889

In this episode of Passion for Dance, Dr. Chelsea interviews Monika Seigel, MS, RD, CEDS-C, CDN a registered dietician, nutritionist and certified eating disorder specialist with a background in professional ballet. Monika discusses her holistic approach to nutrition for dancers, emphasizing the importance of a healthy relationship with food and body image. The conversation covers important topics like the impact of social media misinformation, the signs of disordered eating, and the role of educators and parents in fostering a supportive environment. Monika also shares insights from her new book 'Nourishing Dance,' a resource aimed at improving dancer health and wellbeing.   Get Monika's Book: https://www.nourishingdance.com   Learn more about Monika's workshops: https://msnutrition.com/   Other Episode Resources: https://passionfordancepodcast.com/233   Episode Breakdown: 00:08 Meet Monika Seigel 00:31 The Role of Nutrition in a Dancer's Life 04:02 Healthy Eating and Relationship with Food 07:25 Challenges and Misinformation in Nutrition 13:55 Guidance for Teachers and Parents 20:48 Understanding Eating Disorders and Disordered Eating 22:15 Common Triggers and Influences 24:31 Early Signs and Intervention 26:21 Behavioral and Physical Indicators 28:57 Supporting a Friend or Peer 30:01 Creating a Supportive Dance Environment 35:07 Positive Changes and Future Goals 38:46 Resources and Final Thoughts  

Get AudioBooks for FreeBest Self-improvement MotivationPain Is My Passion — Best Self-Improvement SpeechCoach Pain delivers a raw, powerful self-improvement speech that turns pain into fuel. Build grit, embrace struggle, and rise stronger than ever.Get AudioBooks for Free⁠We Need Your Love & Support ❤️https://buymeacoffee.com/myinspiration#Motivational_Speech#motivation #inspirational_quotes #motivationalspeech Get AudioBooks for Free Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Today, Janice is joined by Elizabeth Elting, Co-Founder and former Co-CEO of TransPerfect, the world's largest translation and language services provider. Elizabeth shares her formidable entrepreneurial journey — from surviving on ramen packets in the early days to leading a multi-billion-dollar global company. She reflects on the influence of her father, the early development of her entrepreneurial instincts, and how working across cultures and languages shaped her leadership and global perspective.Tags: janice, ellig, elizabeth, elting, ceo, transperfect, journey, entrepreneur, culture, language, leadership, global, impact

The long commitment of Nedap and GEA's innovation partnership comes together to deliver performance that pays.In this episode of the Uplevel Dairy Podcast, Peggy continues the conversation with Galen Smith of Coldstream Farms. They discuss the complexities and strategies involved in transitioning a family farm business across generations. Galen shares insights into how his father-in-law integrated him into the business, the importance of financial success and passion for farming, and the approach to decision-making that drives profitability. Galen also talks about preparing opportunities for his four sons to join the farm, emphasizing the value of open conversations, monthly financial meetings, and allowing the younger generation to take ownership of projects. They delve into the process behind adopting new technologies like CowScout collars and outline goals for 2026, including focusing on efficiency, animal health, and mental wellness. The episode highlights both the challenges and the innovative steps taken to ensure a successful family farm transition.This episode is part of the High-Performance Mindset Series powered by Nedap. Nedap is future-proofing dairy farming with smart technologies in activity monitoring, cow locating, milk metering, sort gates, and AI-powered camera systems. Nedap is improving life on the farm by putting the right cow in the right place at the right time, every time.00:00 Introduction to Family Farm Transition00:59 Galen Smith's Journey into the Family Business01:38 Challenges and Strategies in Family Farm Transition03:00 Financial Success and Passion in Farming05:12 Generational Transition at Coldstream Farms11:13 Collaborative Decision-Making and Technology Investments17:19 Setting Up the Next Generation for Success23:01 Goals and Reflections for the Future28:55 Personal Goals and Family Time32:03 Conclusion and Final Thoughts

Success gets a lot quieter at the top and that's exactly the point. In this episode, I sit down with business strategist and seven-figure CEO Kelly Roach to break down why so many driven entrepreneurs stay stuck, burned out, or second guessing themselves long after they've “done everything right.” We talk about the perception gap that keeps people grinding when they're actually growing, why building wealth requires rewriting beliefs most of us inherited without questioning, and how chasing outside approval quietly derails confidence. Kelly also shares what really happens on the road to scale, how to stop letting noise dictate your decisions, and why the deepest work is often the most profitable. Get ready to build a life and business aligned with who you actually are. In This Episode You Will Learn Why the PERCEPTION GAP is sabotaging more businesses than bad strategy. How to stop letting OTHER PEOPLE'S OPINIONS run your decisions. Why “hard” doesn't mean you're doing it WRONG. The difference between PASSION and MARKET VIABILITY. How unresolved BELIEFS around money quietly cap your income. Why true growth requires slowing down and doing the INNER WORK. How to separate PHILANTHROPY from BUSINESS so both can thrive. Why highly successful people IGNORE NOISE and run their own race. Check Out Our Sponsors: Shopify - Sign up for a one-dollar-per-month trial period at shopify.com/monahan Quince - Step into the holiday season with layers made to feel good and last from Quince. Go to quince.com/confidence Timeline - Get 10% off your first Mitopure order at timeline.com/CONFIDENCE. Northwest Registered Agent - protect your privacy, build your brand and get your complete business identity in just 10 clicks and 10 minutes! Visit https://www.northwestregisteredagent.com/confidencefree Resources + Links Listen to The Kelly Roach Show HERE Call my digital clone at 201-897-2553!  Visit heathermonahan.com Sign up for my mailing list: heathermonahan.com/mailing-list/  Overcome Your Villains is Available NOW! Order here: https://overcomeyourvillains.com  If you haven't yet, get my first book Confidence Creator Follow Heather on Instagram & LinkedIn Kelly on Instagram

This week on Further In, Pastor Ben Stuart and members of our team sit down to discuss the most recent talk at Passion City Church DC on Ecclesiastes 12. —With Passion City Online you can join us live every Sunday at 9:30a and 11:30a! Join us at https://passioncitychurch.com/dc—Give towards what God is doing through Passion City Church: https://passioncitychurch.com/dc/give—Subscribe to our Youtube channel to see more messages https://www.youtube.com/passioncitychurchdc—Follow along with Passion City Church DC: https://www.instagram.com/passioncitydc—Follow along with Pastor Ben Stuart: https://www.instagram.com/ben_stuart_—Passion City Church is a Jesus church with locations in Atlanta and Washington D.C. For more info on Passion, visit https://passioncitychurch.com Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

We would love to pray for you! Please send us your requests here. --------This Christmas, you can shine the light of Christ into places of darkness and pain with a purchase from the Joni and Friends Christmas catalog. You are sending hope and practical care to people with disabilities, all in the name of Jesus! Thank you for listening! Your support of Joni and Friends helps make this show possible. Joni and Friends envisions a world where every person with a disability finds hope, dignity, and their place in the body of Christ. Become part of the global movement today at www.joniandfriends.org. Find more encouragement on Instagram, TikTok, Facebook, and YouTube.

Learn the simple habits for consistency and fitness motivation that a 62-year-old CEO uses to stay in incredible shape while building an 800-location empire. He reveals the mindset trick that makes it easy to stick to your goals, plus the truth about intermittent fasting and infrared training for fat loss. In episode 841 of the Savage Perspective Podcast, host Robert Sikes talks with Hotworx founder Stephen Smith about his journey from champion bodybuilder to successful entrepreneur. Stephen shares his personal routine, his approach to diet and macros, and the business strategies that scaled his company, giving you a roadmap for your own health and professional success.Ready to build a powerful physique? Join Robert's FREE Bodybuilding Masterclass to get the exact strategies for building muscle and achieving your ideal body composition. https://www.ketobodybuilding.com/registration-2Get Keto Brick: https://www.ketobrick.com/Subscribe to the podcast: https://open.spotify.com/show/42cjJssghqD01bdWBxRYEg?si=1XYKmPXmR4eKw2O9gGCEuQChapters:0:00 - The #1 Habit for Insane Fitness Results 0:36 - The Unlikely Origin Story of a Fitness Giant 1:32 - How the Tanning Industry Was Wiped Out (And Why) 3:53 - The Truth About Tanning Beds & Skin Cancer 5:05 - Infrared vs. UV: The "Good" Sunlight Explained 6:07 - The Biohack That Gets You More Results in Less Time 8:22 - What Kind of Exercise Do You Do in a Sauna? 9:45 - What Temperature is a Hotworx Sauna? 10:24 - From Champion Bodybuilder to Fitness CEO 12:10 - How Bodybuilding Knowledge Built the Hotworx Empire 13:38 - Who Is Hotworx Actually For? (The Ideal User) 15:16 - Who is The Target Customer for Hotworx? 17:02 - How a Franchise Stays Consistent Across 800 Locations 18:01 - Why He Left the Traditional Gym Business 21:07 - How a 62-Year-Old Stays in Peak Physical Condition 22:00 - The Mindset Trick to Never Miss a Workout 24:04 - Is Intermittent Fasting a "Cheat Code" for Fat Loss? 24:37 - How 80s Bodybuilding Diets Compare to Today 27:44 - How He Found a Passion for Mountaineering at 52 31:23 - "Am I Too Old For This?" - Pushing Limits After 60 33:17 - The Next Big Goal: 2,000 Locations by 2030 34:18 - Is the Fitness Industry Headed in the Right Direction? 35:00 - The Problem with Using Drugs for Weight Loss 37:01 - The Secret to Making Fitness Fun & Addicting 40:00 - Going to Try Hotworx For The First Time 41:27 - Final Thoughts & Where to Find HotworxChapters:

SPOKEN FEMALE VOICE with AMBIENT MUSIC by THE COMMUNION OF SAINTS ROSARY 2 United in Prayer.  Enjoy this week's collection of beautiful music to help inspire your prayerful intentions alongside this daily rosary. The spoken portion of this rosary features a female voice and is a little over 20 minutes long, with extended music for additional meditation. This rosary contains the sorrowful mysteries, recited on Tuesdays and Fridays. These mysteries focus on Christ's Passion and death, with fruits like sorrow for sin and patience. Be a part of the communion of saints in praying the rosary, as it connects you with the communal prayer of the universal Church and the saints throughout history, fostering a profound sense of spiritual solidarity.  May this Rosary become a faithful companion to your prayer life. Additional prayer tools at www.rosarywristband.com !!! SUPPORT OUR SAINTLY SOUNDS GREGORIAN CHANT CHANNEL !!!  Catholic Prayers sung in Latin using actual prayer lyrics https://youtube.com/@sonisancti?si=k-ybNdVGdo_dFTEt Link to Gregorian Chant Prayer playlist:  https://youtu.be/OVQfBVpJxVg?si=dZw92ColnO9Wv5As !!! SUPPORT OUR COMMUNION OF SAINTS CHANNEL !!!  Spoken Rosary & music featuring a MALE VOICE https://youtube.com/@rosarycompanion?si=J4-MKOKo3mnxwpIS **NEW**  30 MINUTE TRADITIONAL ROSARY - SORROWFUL TUESDAY - SPOKEN ONLY https://youtu.be/xuBcmbi8XKM SPOKEN ONLY VERSION: Tuesday Rosary - SPOKEN ONLY https://youtu.be/KyCey-qH-lA MOST VIEWED TUESDAY ROSARY: Calm Music    https://youtu.be/tcryvk5IlmY MOST VIEWED ONE HOUR ROSARY DEVOTION: Complete Rosary    https://youtu.be/rrNMRJ5oH-Q MOST VIEWED SLEEP ROSARY: 4 Hour Sleep Rosary    https://youtu.be/4a-uaEEJOF4 Have you joined our Membership?  Starting at only $1.99 a month, you can directly help this channel grow:  https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCLXCEpdy0etQAdEHB1z-oTg/join Or consider a donation through PayPal to help us continue creating quality content:  https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?business=CHerrera720037%40gmail.com&cmd=_donations¤cy_code=USD&item_name=Donation+to+The+Communion+of+Saints&return=https%3A%2F%2Frosarywristband.com%2Fhome All music in this video is licensed thru Epidemic Sound Publishing. Blessings, Chris - The Communion of Saints Email: chris@rosarywristband.com Simply, easy and quick rosary prayers for everyday recitation and reflection.   This collection of Catholic rosary videos in english serve as a daily devotion and feature calm background music and nature soundscapes.   Choose from audio only or follow along video with all mysteries: Joyful, Sorrowful, Glorious and Luminous.  Listen before sleep or any time for renewed focus and peace. "Together we pray" Visit rosarywristband.com for comfortable one decade rosaries. #Rosary #SorrowfulMysteries #CatholicMeditation #TuesdayRosary #todayrosary  #todayrosaryinenglish #dailyrosaryinenglish

Today's Daily Rosary - SPOKEN MALE VOICE with AMBIENT MUSIC by THE COMMUNION OF SAINTS ROSARY This week's collection of beautiful music welcomes you into a calm state of prayer as together, we offer up our intentions alongside this daily rosary. This rosary contains the sorrowful mysteries, recited on Tuesdays and Fridays  These mysteries focus on Christ's Passion and death, with fruits like sorrow for sin and patience. Be a part of the communion of saints in praying the rosary, as it connects you with the communal prayer of the universal Church and the saints throughout history, fostering a profound sense of spiritual solidarity.  The spoken portion of this rosary is 20 minutes, with extended music for additional meditation. May this Rosary become a faithful companion to your prayer life. Additional prayer tools at www.rosarywristband.com !!! SUPPORT OUR SAINTLY SOUNDS GREGORIAN CHANT CHANNEL !!!  Catholic Prayers sung in Latin using actual prayer lyrics https://youtube.com/@sonisancti?si=k-ybNdVGdo_dFTEt Link to Gregorian Chant Prayer playlist:  https://youtu.be/OVQfBVpJxVg?si=dZw92ColnO9Wv5As !!! SUPPORT OUR COMMUNION OF SAINTS 2 CHANNEL !!!  Spoken Rosary & music featuring a FEMALE VOICE https://youtu.be/8v2u3Sbhh4I?si=7CbWIGvgxquvNNQM **NEW**  30 MINUTE TRADITIONAL ROSARY - SORROWFUL TUESDAY - SPOKEN ONLY https://youtu.be/xuBcmbi8XKM ROSARY - SPOKEN ONLY VERSION: Tuesday - SPOKEN ONLY https://youtu.be/KyCey-qH-lA MOST VIEWED TUESDAY ROSARY: Calm Music    https://youtu.be/tcryvk5IlmY MOST VIEWED ONE HOUR ROSARY DEVOTION: Complete Rosary    https://youtu.be/rrNMRJ5oH-Q MOST VIEWED SLEEP ROSARY: 4 Hour Sleep Rosary    https://youtu.be/4a-uaEEJOF4 Have you joined our Membership?  Starting at only $1.99 a month, you can directly help this channel grow:  https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCLXCEpdy0etQAdEHB1z-oTg/join Or consider a donation through PayPal to help us continue creating quality content:  https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?business=CHerrera720037%40gmail.com&cmd=_donations¤cy_code=USD&item_name=Donation+to+The+Communion+of+Saints&return=https%3A%2F%2Frosarywristband.com%2Fhome Blessings, Chris - The Communion of Saints Email: chris@rosarywristband.com Simply, easy and quick rosary prayers for everyday recitation and reflection.   This collection of Catholic rosary videos in english serve as a daily devotion and feature calm background music and nature soundscapes.   Choose from audio only or follow along video with all mysteries: Joyful, Sorrowful, Glorious and Luminous.  Listen before sleep or any time for renewed focus and peace. "Together we pray" Visit rosarywristband.com for comfortable one decade rosaries. #Rosary #SorrowfulMysteries #CatholicMeditation #TuesdayRosary #todayrosary #todayrosaryinenglish

Christianity isn't a religion of empty rituals; it's a real relationship with the living God. Dr. Tony Evans talks about the importance of pursuing a deeper, more intimate connection with Christ, showing how a heartfelt desire for God's presence fuels true spiritual passion.