Stella LaRoche

Hiya and happy summer solstice! As usual I meant to engage in some proper type of ritual on the day/time of the solstice but unfortunately the exact time of the solstice was 4:24 in the morning for me and I had work in the morning and I’ve been working crazy hours for my current job so all hopes of building good habits (other than good sleep habits) or rituals have kinda gone out the window. Between school getting out, summer employment and activities commencing, and the sheer amount of shit (both positive and negative) that’s happened since I wrote the spring equinox update it feels like there should have been another season between them but here we are, somehow only three months later (regardless of how long it feels it’s been).

Sallust’s Bellum Catilinae. is a text purporting to be an unbiased telling of the Catilinarian conspiracy. There is no such thing as a truly unbiased story – no matter how hard you try, your biases and connections to those in the tale or even to the themes of the tale will make themselves known. This is one of many reasons this work is such a fascinating piece to ready and study. It is a story known well to those who have studied classics at all and certainly throughout history it is a historical event referenced often by studied folk and which also inspired many pieces of art. Sallust’s account of the conspiracy is the main historical record we have of the play by play of the entire thing – we have Cicero’s Catilinarian Orations but his speeches to the Roman senate and citizens do not tell the whole story, for he was not physically there for nor spoke about every aspect of the conspiracy.

As Sallust tells it, Catiline was a man of the patrician class but whose family wealth had dwindled a great deal. It had been a long time since anyone in his family had held the consulship and they had very little political power in general. Despite Catiline’s tendencies toward scandal and reckless behavior throughout his life he was determined to re-climb the social order and gain his own personal political power. Despite losing the consulship repeatedly he was convinced he could fix Roman government and turned instead to putting together a conspiracy and taking over the senate entirely. He already had several good friends in the senate and by promising debt relief across the Republic upon his success in getting political power he got many debt-ridden and desperate people from all classes on his side to stage a coup. Sallust implies that the chaos to follow was at least in large part due to Catiline’s character and his ability to draw people in and use them for his own advancement, only lightly acknowledging the fact that there was already civil unrest brewing due to the overwhelming amount of debt everyone was experiencing.

As Catiline gathered allies in the senate and influential classes as well as plebeians in Rome and many groups of people in towns and areas outside of Rome under the idea of backing him politically as consul, he also knew that if his political campaign failed again he could use his gathered (though spread out) forces to physically take over the senate. He once again failed to get the consulship and therefore it was time to put plan b in action. Cicero found out about Catiline’s conspiracy and began a second conspiracy to thwart the first, creating a mess of informants for both sides. Many members of Catiline’s conspiracy were found out, seized, and put in jail. Having chosen to flee under the idea of a self-exile, Catiline decided to regroup and try again. At this point the senate met to discuss what to do with those involved in the conspiracy and in that meeting is where famous speeches by Caesar and Cato were all delivered. To drastically oversimplify both of their speeches delivered at this time, Caesar recommended the senate tread cautiously as they determine the fate of the captured conspirators so as to keep the peace whereas Cato recommended the death penalty for all involved. The senate chose to follow Cato’s recommendation and the conspirators were put to death. Catiline, meanwhile, was still gathering forces to take Rome by force. As he began to advance he was met with Cicero’s men; Catiline redirected his troops but they met yet another enemy group. There they fought and Catiline and his men were overcome and all were slain. Sallust’s account of the whole conspiracy ends with Cicero’s forces walking through the field of the fallen and seeing among them their neighbors, friends, and family. He notes their bravery, saying that they had all died facing their enemy but in the end the conspiracy concludes in a bloodbath and that is where Sallust leaves it.

Due to the nature of Cicero’s Catilinarian Orations, all that is directly in the text are his speeches which therefore leave out a lot of the rest of the conspiratorial plot on Catiline’s side. The first oration was delivered in the senate, somewhat accidentally directly to Catiline, after the captured conspirators were executed. The senate meeting was called and no one expected Catiline himself to show up, considering his conspiracy was the focal point of the meeting, however he did and that allowed Cicero to speak directly to him. Cicero spends a majority of the speech tearing into Catiline and declaring that he should have been dealt with long before. The senate is brought up to speed with everything that has occurred thus far and Cicero begs Catiline to take everyone involved with him that is still in Rome and essentially exile themselves to somewhere else and abandon their conspiratorial ideas. Cicero hails this as the safest and simplest method to keep the peace among the citizens and throughout Rome while following the Sempronian law, though he is extremely aware that exile was not the popular choice in the moment for how to deal with the conspirators. Catiline agrees to this and take some of his co-conspirators with him when he leaves, though he does not follow through with going to Marseilles like he said he would, instead going to a camp where many of his other forces were gathered. Through his web of informants, Cicero knew that Catiline and his cronies went instead to Manlius to consider his next steps.

The second oration was one Cicero gave to the citizens. He let them know that Catiline and some of his gang were out of the city and that the city itself was now safe, though he did rejoice in the fact that the conspiracy had become an open war instead of a secret plot. This change in the colloquial categorization of the conspiracy gave Cicero the confidence to say that Catiline would be fully dealt with and absolutely ruined before long. In this oration he also makes it clear that there are still many figures residing in Rome that were deeply connected to Catiline and wished they had left the city with him, though he then transitioned into a series of categorizations of the types of people still intertwined with the conspiracy in the city and how reasonable it would be to get them back on the side of the Republic instead of on the side of Catiline.

Cicero’s third oration was also to the people of Rome. It was a near play by play of the investigations he and the senate had done into several of Catiline’s co-conspirators and spoke at length about his own strengths in dealing with the whole situation. It is a recounting of events that would be helpful for many modern events, though this aspect of public relations is not one that has stood the test of time.

The fourth oration was once again to the senate, suggesting they gather all of the conspirators and imprison them in different municipalities so that they would experience true punishment for their deeds. In whole it was his reflection on his choices and work to protect Rome as consul during this time of civil and political upheaval and a strong recommendation for how the senate should vote regarding the fate of all involved conspirators. This being the final speech he gave, there is no inclusion of any of the battle and deaths to come and it ends on quite a nebulous note.

These two accounts of the Catilinarian conspiracy are not opposing accounts but they are very different looks into the story. Cicero’s orations were published only a few years after the events of the conspiracy but as he was attempting to justify the choices he made as consul (so who knows exactly how accurate the published versions are to his direct words in the moment), whereas Sallust wrote the Bellum Catilinae about twenty years after the events took place and around the time of Caesar’s assassination, giving the two of them very different perspectives on both the direct words said in any given speech but also the events as a whole. Sallust was looking back on the conspiracy as a piece of history that had occurred that he was tangentially related to, whereas Cicero was deeply involved and had less time between the events occurring and his reflection on them as he published his speeches. Both are very moralistic writers, yet they deploy this in different ways. Cicero was speaking directly to the citizens of Rome in half of these orations, guiding them through civil unrest and political upheaval as consul, whereas Sallust was writing as someone who had left the political sphere and was therefore justifying his choice by pointing out how insane, complicated, and dangerous that world was (and is). Simply by Sallust’s choice in style – archaic and strange – he placed himself in a category unto himself as a historian wanting credibility and distance form the events of the conspiracy. Sallust painted nearly every character he speaks about in a vaguely negative, though complicated light, clearly indicating his opinions about politicians and the way they lived and engaged with others in their field. Cicero spent a lot of his orations talking himself up both to the senate and the citizens. In many cases this was appropriate, as he was trying to reassure the citizens that they were safe and that he had their best interests in heart and wanted the senate to go along with his wishes, but at times feels quite self- aggrandizing and pompous.

Both writers were deeply biased to their own agendas and personal wishes for how they want their work to be perceived by those reading their account of the conspiracy. Though wildly different in style, every choice in wording and phrasing was intentional and worked toward their goals in the reader’s perception of the story. Though Sallust was no longer directly in the political sphere when he wrote the Bellum Catilinae, he had prior experience as a politician himself and was friends and colleagues with many throughout his life. This gave him a different look into the world of political conspiracy and the workings of the Roman senate than a historian who had been separate from that world entirely. This colors his writing but also perhaps gives a deeper look into the minutia of the people in the Roman political sphere. Cicero was a politician through and through and having published these orations at a time when he was attempting to justify to the public his actions as consul also likely colored exactly how he phrased things as he wrote it out, especially having a few years between giving the speeches and publishing them. These are not necessarily wrong or bad colorations on their work; they tell as much of a story about those that wrote the words as the words tell about the conspiracy they describe. There is no way to get a pure history of any event and looking at a given historical occurrence through multiple lenses and sides can give clarity to what actually happened and how it was perceived by those on every side of the story. If only Catiline had lived long enough to write his own history of his conspiracy – then we’d really have a lot of perspectives to dig into.


Bibliography

Sallust. Bellum Catilinae. Translated by Josiah Osgood, Princeton University Press, 2022.
Cicero, Marcus Tullius. Catilinarians. Translated by C. D. Yonge, M.A., G. Bell and Sons, LTD., 1919.

There is, somewhat surprisingly, a great deal of interest still in Sallust’s Bellum Catilinae in this day and age. It is interesting in multiple ways: as a historical text and history, as a look into a very stylized way of writing in Latin, as a connection to the way humanity has operated for hundreds and thousands of years, as a cultural reference point worth understanding, and especially as a wild series of events. It is certainly a work oft referenced through history though particularly more in the past than in the present. It was really intriguing to me to see the list in Paul Allen Miller’s essay of other art and writing and such based in this time of political upheaval that, if I knew of the art, I certainly didn’t realize they were all tied to the same historical event. Though not talked about publicly in great detail in the modern day, it is still interesting just how many vague references are made to the event politically considering how few folks currently have an actual knowledge of the details of the conspiracy or have read any of the primary texts.

In regard to the current political references being made – Trump as Catiline in particular – I honestly think these comparisons do a disservice to Catiline. Having reread the full English translation of the Bellum Catilinae just prior to reading Miller’s essay and therefore writing this, Catiline is characterized in large part by his wit and cunning and ability to change plans and plots drastically on his toes based on everything around him changing drastically on the regular. Catiline’s plans were complicated and thorough and dastardly and none of Trump’s schemes feel on that level to me. Trump in my view is more along the lines of one of the other men of high standing Catiline had working for him as informants and inciters of violence and the like. There are forces working through Trump that want to live up to the tales of Catiline but for some reason are incapable of standing up themselves in the way he did. It is certainly catchy and eye grabbing to refer to someone with as much power as Trump as a Catilinarian figure both because it looks like a high class reference and because – as Sallust knew and we know now – people treat the past with an amount of reverence and trust. It is comforting to know that such political upheavals have happened before and will likely happen again and to compare current political situations to past ones gives us that sense of relief that life will go on but when it is an inaccurate connection to draw, or even an only partially accurate connection, it undermines the possible strength of the reference.

Sallust writes in a style that is very purposefully archaic because it strengthens his argument that this is an important piece of history and something worth talking about along with readers more immediately trusting his point of view and opinions on the events. When we reference his work now we employ the same exact tactic he was exploiting by writing in such a style. It is an effective though at times overused method of winning a reader’s trust; but, it is one that has stood the test of time for a reason.

Happy Spring! It has indeed sprung – we had one last major cold snap at the beginning of this week (2-3 inches in about 2 hours...it was a lot at once) and by now it is up to proper normal spring weather which is absolutely lovely. Winter has both lasted an age and also passed so quickly I can’t believe we’re already this far through this season cycle yet again.

Wheouph what a season it’s been. Fall did indeed fall and we are now in winter. Not happy about the fact that the sun is returning already to be honest. I love the darkness so much.

Essay

John Luther Adams is a modern, living composer whose work spans many styles, inspirations, and settings. He started playing music in rock bands, then went to college for composition and after stumbling upon several modern, avant-garde composers of the day (the 1970s) in his late teens and early twenties his focus completely shifted toward those ideas and styles. Post graduation from Cal Arts (California Institute of the Arts), he ended up working in environmental conservation and doing related activism. He was composing on the side still but it was not his main occupation. He first visited Alaska in 1975 for work; then again in 1977, and by 1987 he had moved completely to a remote cabin outside Fairbanks. This period of living in rural Alaska deeply changed his life and influenced the rest of his work to come.

Throughout his compositions over the years Adams’ instrumentation, inspiration, and implementation have varied greatly, from unconventional uses of a string quartet to installations where the sound produced in a room is directly linked to the seismic activity and weather in the locale. Houses of the Wind is a new work (2021–2022) reinterpreting an old recording. The base of all five movements is a ten-and-a-half minute portion of a field recording from 1989 of the Arctic wind via aeolian harp. For each movement he has taken the digital transfer of the original recording and reorganized, layered, and edited it into an entirely new piece. Each movement is intended to emulate a different type of Arctic wind and though on the face they seem similar, each movement has its own thing going on.

Houses of the Wind also brings forth thoughts of climate, time, and change. With the base recording being from 1989 (and by its nature, being made by the ever-changing wind), there is no way to recreate this piece. The landscape has changed, the human interaction with the area has changed. It can be hard to look at a piece like this and not be reminded of Adams’ background as an environmental activist—he spent so much of his time working to protect these areas, creatures, and experiences that it will inevitably creep into his work.

It is clear that Alaska is Adams’ favorite and most inspirational place, and that deep love comes through in both Houses of the Wind and his other works. The sensation of calm and peaceful isolation Houses of the Wind induces is an immediate transportation into its original setting—the cold tundra that is Alaska.

Listening Guide

00:05 Music is audible when listening at a casual volume

00:40 First instance of dissonance in the piece. In later movements dissonance is utilized more but is sparingly used in Catabatic Wind

01:03 First main swell in volume and fullness of sound, overall gets more complex here

01:43 Lower registers enter for the first time

02:48 New mid-register voice enters, gaining volume and forming the throbbing hum beneath the rest of the music until 04:27

04:55 Low register enters, taking focus by 05:12 and there to 05:27 it comes in and out of the spotlight, ebbing and flowing like the wind

07:50 The lowest register has dropped out entirely, leaving just the shimmering upper register

08:11 Single voice left for a simplified moment

08:20 Other voices begin coming back in

08:50 Lowest register re-enters

09:51 New voice enters, bringing some dissonance

10:18 Fade out starts, leaving with no melodic conclusion


“Voice” used here to mean individual register/melody/sound, as there is no human voice in this piece.

Considering that I am writing this update a while after the actual fall equinox I think you can surmise just how life has been going recently. This summer (rather unfortunately) followed my lifelong pattern of depression and vague crappiness but luckily summer is over and order has been restored to life and the days are rapidly growing shorter.

Several months ago I ordered a cheap music player from Walmart (evil, I know, I try not to buy there generally, fear not). When it arrived I realized it was misrepresented in its packaging and listing online and also (quite importantly) did not have a users manual. Because of these two crucial things, I spent two hours straight on the day it arrived it trying desperately to figure out the UI and system functionality. Months later I am still struggling. I do have music on it but I am yet to figure out how to sort files on it so that it reads albums as albums and not just mystery songs.

I’ve tried embedding album info into each song file’s metadata, I’ve tried sorting them in folders, I’ve tried titling the songs in different ways, and more. The only time it has read an album correctly in album form was unfortunately when I put an album entirely in m4a format on accident. No idea why it read it as an album when it cannot even read that file type??

Jimbo also (unless I’m doing something incredibly incorrect somehow) has a tendency to play a loud static sound between songs that I can’t seem to problem solve. I’ve tried it with multiple output types – headphones and a proper stereo – and it happens in all contexts. This may just be a consequence of it being a cheap mp3 player which would suck but I do luckily have a solution if this is the case. I can just stick all tracks from an album into one long ass file and I’ll just listen to music from this player only in album form (I can also do this with playlists, essentially creating a mixtape for myself that is locked in order). This would also fix the strange lack of proper organization problems as I could just go to “All Songs” and find the “song” (album/mixtape) I want to hear quickly and easily.

Side note – the stereo I recently got from a thrift store is the same company as the one my mom has had since she was about my age but one year older and both have an issue with their auxiliary inputs where only one channel comes through properly. I can’t for the life of me remember if it’s the same channel that is broken on both but it is interesting to note. My first guess is that during this general time there was just some way they were constructing the connections for the auxiliary inputs that tends to fail with time but I don’t have a way of knowing the cause for sure. My dad tried taking my mom’s stereo apart years ago to see if he could find and fix that issue (the CD player in hers also doesn’t work – it got jammed in a move about twenty years ago – but we’ve long since given up hope of that being fixed so it’s mostly used as a massive cassette player these days, and almost solely by me) but it was a problem deep within the body and it was too risky so it’s just been broken for ages now.

Back to the main point at hand here, I think a lot of the odd things with this mp3 player are simply due to its price and therefore the amount of care (or rather lack thereof) that was put into the designing, coding, and manufacturing of this device. I’m determined to continue using it because I bought it and now it is the physical manifestation of hard earned money and I will never be one to throw things away quickly. It may be an objectively stupid way to spend my time, reconfiguring files to make them listenable on Jimbo but it’s worth it to me for some reason.

Somehow it is the summer now and I am baffled as ever and the steady marching of time. Its pace never changes yet it manages to sneak up on us all in the strangest ways.

I have officially finished my first year of university and am on summer break! I, of course, have stayed hellaciously busy this time but in good ways I chose for myself.

Spring was good for me. Crazy inside as always but I think that’s just what change and newness does to some of us and boy howdy is spring a time of change and newness. The tail end of the school year I was all over the place busy with school and work and friends but it was a good crazy and busy unlike some other crazy and busy times in the past year.

I’m currently supposed to be writing some short answer bits for a scholarship application due Saturday/Sunday so of course I’m writing this instead but that is how it goes and how I suspect it will always go for me. I’ll get the other things done eventually…just not right this second.

Once again a season change has come around without me doing any actual planning to properly celebrate the solstice or equinox but I am working a ton this time so at least I have a bit of an excuse.

Twelfth Night, written in 1623 by William Shakespeare, is a romantic comedy following a group of people desperately trying to pursue those they are interested in and both failing and succeeding in amusing ways. Set in a fictionalized version of Illyria, the original version of the play is assumed to take place during winter due to the title. The 2025 production of Twelfth Night by Sewanee’s theatre department and directed by Ivy Francis Moore is set during summer with very modern styling. This is a fresh new take on a classic story and provides a different look into the characters and plot not seen in other productions.

Most of the design elements worked very well together. The sound design was nearly nonexistent. As it was an outdoor show with no actors having mics there was not much needed. There was music before the show began and after the show ended which was very good for setting the audience’s mood.

The lighting was also minimal but appropriate and effective. In the daylight it was hard to see much lighting happening but as the sun went down it became much more clear. The lighting fit the mood of the show well and aided the storytelling well without being aggressively noticeable. There were no stand out lighting moments to me; because it meshed so well with the rest of the design, it was hard to see any particular scenes standing out dramatically from the rest.

The costumes were really fun! They were the design element that helped the idea of summer party come across the most and they were very effective in that role. The way each character was designed fit very well and thematically came together nicely. The only bit of costuming that felt somewhat out of place was Olivia’s; there’s not a way to convey being in mourning in the historical way in a modern setting because we don’t do that. I think the way it was done was the best it could have been but it did not fit with the rest of the costumes as much as it could have. The way Viola and Sebastian were costumed was a stand out design choice to me. Their mostly matching but not perfectly matching outfits reflected their similarity and individuality clearly and effectively.

The set was the only design element I felt did not match the rest at all. I learned later that it was supposed to be a mashing together of two paintings but I (and others) assumed it was intended to be a map while watching the play. As the sun went down the different shades of blue all melded into one and it became even less clear. The curtains framed the stage well but did not seem directly relevant to Twelfth Night in particular.

My favorite part of the play was the entire duel(s) sequence. It is a comedic riot of a sequence that was made only funnier by the props/costumes/directing choice to use tiny water guns as their swords. The water guns fit so perfectly with the costume design and general feeling of the show I didn’t even realize they were still saying the word “sword” and not “water gun” when speaking of their dueling shenanigans for several lines. This moment in the plot is so key to the rest of the show happening and the silliness of the water guns contrasted the bits of seriousness in that part so well it almost came off as more serious than it perhaps would have with another choice.

The design element that stood out in particular to me was the costume design. It was such a specific concept and that concept was captured so well. The reorienting of the place and time of the show makes for a much more accessible performance of Shakespeare plays for many and I think this was a really fun way to embrace that and remain in keeping with the comedic tone of the play. Moore had a specific vision with this production of Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night and overall the designers for the show worked well together to carry out this vision in an effective, fun, and colorful way that came across as intended and was cohesive.

A myth that has captivated me since I was a small child is the myth of Hades and Persephone/Proserpina. I remember realizing there were a couple very distinct ways their story was told and not understanding why or how they were so different but both so prevalent. Some of the standout tellings of this story for me are the ways spoken about in class, the tale told in brief in D’Aulaires’ Book of Greek Myths, and the musical Hadestown. Between these examples and many, many others in pop culture through the millennia there are two versions of their story that are told; either one of rape in all possible senses of the word or one of love and marriage. Though we have gotten both types of tellings through history there has been a trend lately of the love-filled side gaining preference when telling their story.

Both in texts read for class and in D’Aulaires’ Book of Greek Myths, the story that is told is of Persephone’s rape. This telling is violent, sad, and paints a picture of domestic hell for the two of them. The story is both the rape of Persephone in the way that she was physically stolen from her previous life and home and brought to the Underworld by great force but also the implied sexual rape of unwilling marriage. Though this story does unfortunately mirror a reality for a lot of women both in antiquity and in modernity, it does not make for a happy tale to tell. In D’Aulaires’ Book of Greek Myths there is no proper ending to their story. It is implied she was simply miserable for the rest of her life, knowing she would always have to return to the dreaded Underworld and the husband she did not care for.

In Hadestown, the story is quite different. Hades and Persephone loved each other greatly in the past when they first got together but over the years have fallen out of love and comfort and completely lost communication with each other. Throughout the course of the musical their love story becomes the secondary plot as they realize what they have lost and see that they both miss what they had and are willing to work to bring it back. This also reflects the lived experience of many couples throughout all time, but their story here ends happily by the end of the show. In keeping with ancient tellings of their story, there is still a clear difference between the attitude and perspective of Persephone and Hades because of their backgrounds and lives but the overall message is one of hope. Even though we don’t see them actually put in the work to fully fix their relationship because the musical ends, the audience is left with the feeling that they will fix it, one way or another - at the very least they’re going to put their best effort into doing so.

From what I can tell the “happier version” of their story seems to be something told mostly in recent years and it would be interesting to see when that shift began to happen. There are still a plethora of times their story is told and it is the forced move and marriage version but I am seeing the former more and more as the years go by. Is it a reflection of the way societies’ views have changed? Is it just that we want to only consume happy stories? I don’t know what the reasoning is but like so much in this world it’s likely a mix of many things.

The goddess Athena is a character much more directly important to the plot of The Odyssey than one unfamiliar with the story likely expects her to be. Despite her tendency to get more involved with human affairs in many other myths than the rest of the main Olympians gods I assumed that she would be a present but distant figure, someone the audience (or in this case, reader) knew was there and keeping tabs on things but not directly interfering in the way she does. Though there are other deities that do get involved such as Hermes and Poseidon, they are not as personally close with Odysseus. As the Odyssey spins its tale Athena guides the decisions made by Odysseus at important times, behavior that is consistent with other myths and her general characterization as a goddess but not something with other gods of both Greek and non-Greek traditions.

As the goddess of wisdom, war, fiber arts, metis (cleverness), and a frequent divine patron to Greek heroes, she is often associated with and involved with the stories in such classic epics as The Odyssey. In The Odyssey, Athena either appears in or is mentioned or invoked in nearly every book. She is a constant figure watching over Odysseus and making sure of his and his forces’ safety. In Book One she is aiding Telemachus in his search for his father, Odysseus. Book Five of The Odyssey opens with Athena being worried about Odysseus’ plight and immediately Zeus sends Hermes to make Calypso set Odysseus free. In Book Fifteen she sends winds to keep him going in the correct direction. Her presence is much more direct than any of the other gods’ in The Odyssey.

This is consistent with other myths involving Athena. She is also associated with other great Greek heroes such as Heracles, Diomedes, Achilles, Perseus, and Jason. She is one of the few gods known to often meddle in human affairs directly such as Hermes and Apollo. In modern times the most prominent religions across the world tend to view their God as relatively hands off with humans. This widespread societal idea affects how we view gods of old and their devotees’ relationship with their god(s). Whether in direct action with humans or in spiritual action with humans, the Greek gods’ presence was a more substantial and regular part of their worship and experience of spirituality.

It is here! The spring equinox. And it’s snowing?? Sleeting?? Raining?? Not sure why or how but yeah all three of those things happened today. And it’s cold. So cold. It was 70°F yesterday! What the hell!! Weather will always be a hellish mystery to me I fear.

So! This is the first proper seasonal update as the last one was one covering an entire year. I know why I did that but it was not fun to wrangle, honestly. The tone was a bit odd but I couldn’t fix it and just gave up and let it be strange. Sometimes you have to ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

This time it’s only what happened this winter. A winter of stress, oddness, sleeplessness, and cheese (not a good thing for me, a noted cheese ambivalist).

It feels so strange to be writing properly for myself – I haven’t done this in an age and a half. I used to write stuff way more often but I just haven’t felt comfortable doing it in a while. No idea what’s changed but I’m thrilled to follow this thread and keep it going! I genuinely think part of my inspiration to just do things today has to do with me watching this elliotisacoolguy video today. It felt so poignant to me as I’ve been struggling with creative block problems lately (and by lately I mean for about a year and a half and it’s been killing me a bit inside) and have been trying to find ways out of it. Him just making himself do the thing was oddly inspiring, especially with the incredible arc and final message of the video.

Though the solstice was the 21st of December I ended up writing most of the last one of these (idk what to call these haha one day I’ll find a name) at the very end of the month/very beginning of January so I’ll just pick up this one at the beginning of January.

I have spent so much time this winter doing research on website ~things~ of various flavors – coding, rss feeds, hosting websites, website building platforms, etc. Was this the best use of my time? Who knows. But I’ve been having fun and it’s felt really good to slowly be learning new skills. I miss spending time on computers in fun ways that felt fulfilling and worthwhile instead of just doing work, school work, and youtube/social media. Digging back into personal websites, real customization, and figuring out what will work for me has been such an odd process but such a good one; one I’m still absolutely in the middle of. (I have about seven million tabs open right now regarding many of those things and it will be awhile before it all settles down as I make decisions on what makes sense to really pursue properly for myself and my future.)

I am still yet to make any of the instagram posts sitting in wait on my phone and honestly I’m considering deleting my accounts there. It’s so useful as a platform but the company is evil and I, for somewhat obvious reasons, dislike that. I also hate the pushing of video content that’s happened in the entire time I’ve had it. Unfortunately it’s become so enmeshed in the culture that there are so many times people assume you must have it and that you’ll be able to complete some action via insta and in some deeply contrarian way that makes me want to delete it out of opposition even more. The main thing still keeping me on it are the number of my friends there that I mainly keep up with through it cos I don’t speak to anyone (I’m trying to make an attempt to work on that but it’s not going well). I want all of my friends to have the same interest in small internet things as I do and to migrate to other (better) sites but I know that’s unrealistic.

Myth, specifically Greek myth, was the first form of religious/spiritual text I had as a child. Though my parents both grew up Christian, neither of them are particularly devout and have had great interest in exploring many other religions, spiritualities, and traditions throughout their lives. Bulfinch’ s Mythology was one of the first books my mother read to me when I was a newborn and that was just the beginning of my marination in Greek myth. As I learned to read one of my favorite books was D'Aulaires Book of Greek Myths, a favorite of mine to this day. Even older yet, I read Rick Riordan’s Percy Jackson books (and the many series spun off of that first one). I always intended to dig deeper into the origin of the myths I knew so well but I always tried to do so in ways that never worked out for me. I refused to read a version of any of the classics (e.g. The Odyssey, The Iliad, etc.) translated and written specifically for children but never managed to get my hands on a normal translation of the texts, I tried learning Greek so that I could read things in their original ancient Greek, I obsessed over the alphabet and odd bits of the details of Greek, but never just read the old versions of the stories. That lack is a large part of why I took this class - to see how others are introduced to these stories and finally gain a deeper knowledge of the history and tradition associated with them.

Through Greek myth is often the way I view things in the world, whether or not I necessarily believe in it. Sometime in elementary school we were learning about myth - specifically about the ideas of the nature, ritual, and character theories of myth - and it was in that unit that I began thinking about myth as more than stories that had been with me my whole life and started to see how they had impacted stories and the world all around me; how many of our modern tropes in media are present in myths of old and I remember wondering if it was direct inspiration or if those types of stories are inherent to humanity.

The family tree and succession myth told in Hesiod’s Theogony is something so deeply ingrained in me I often do not remember that other people around me do not also know the ins and outs of the Olympian family tree or the random flings that happen. I am by no means an expert in Greek myth but it is something very foundational to me. Myth as story and narrative is a true reading of myth but my first understanding of myth was as explanation of the world and the accompanying external theories. It has been enlightening to have the theories of myth and the history of both myth and mythology laid out so clearly as a way to look at these stories taking into account modern and ancient viewpoints.

January:

- 8th first day of dual enrollment classes
- 20th Powerpoint night @ Anthony’s house
- 20th Zoey’s birthday party
- 21st The Lightning Thief @ Atlanta On Stage
- 28th monthly friend picnic

February:

- 9th Anthony’s birthday party & rocky horror picture show
- 12th lunch w/ Libbo, Heather, & Erik
- 17th Musical rave w/ sydney @ The Masquerade
- 17th pulled over for the first time
- 18th virtual Admitted Scottie Day
- 23rd chicago @ Chamblee high school
- 23rd sleepover @ zoey’s house
- 24th hair dye time @ Thomas’ house
- 25th monthly friend picnic
- 26th lunch w/ Unni @ Med Grill
- 29th modern dance class for the first time @ ADMA

March:

- 3rd unni picnic and tote bag coloring @ Piedmont Park
- 3rd dadi freyr @ the variety playhouse
- 7th gear hauling & setup for Papa’s session
- 12th Chamblee Orch LGPE @ Chamblee High School
- 15th Mall trip w/ Mama
- 15th Giselle w/ MEO @ Atlanta Symphony Hall
- 16th super saturday
- 20th Beetlejuice w/ Mama & MEO @ The Fox
- 22nd Sydney at my house all day
- 23rd Monthly friend picnic
- 26th noahfinnce @ The Masquerade

April:

- 6th horror video game night @ Spencer’s house
- 7th Shrek the musical @ The Fox
- 8th partial solar eclipse
- 12th Experience Sewanee trip
- 13th TMs orch six flags concert help & UWGA wanderings
- 13th This is Spinal Tap @ The Plaza
- 14th Ren Faire trip w/ M, J, & G
- 16th Six w/ Mama @ The fox
- 19th puffs @ Decatur High School
- 20th mamma mia! @ Druid Hills High School
- 21st ren faire trip w/ Zoey
- 22nd last day of dual enrollment classes
- 24th kate hang out in decatur
- 26th Agnes scott Blue class bash
- 26th Nails done for prom w/ zoey
- 27th Druid Hills High School Prom @ Ponce City Market
- 28th Puffs @ Decatur High school
- 28th monthly friend picnic

May:

- 2nd Nana & Pop visit
- 2nd Chamblee orch spring Concert @ Chamblee High School
- 3rd dual enrollment grades available
- 3rd TMS ‘20 reunion @ Avondale Lake house
- 4th-5th final Girl Scout Camping trip @ Sweetwater
- 7th eoy ice cream meetup w/ anthony @ The Frosty Caboose
- 7th DSA spring orch concert
- 7th, 9th, & 11th Eurovision
- 9th TMS spring orch concert
- 10th first doctor who episode of the season air date
- 11th Chamblee Graduation @ GSU Convocation center
- 11th Druid Hills High school art show
- 11th Mr. Bungle w/ Papa @ the Tabernacle
- 14th The Crow w/ Mama @ The Plaza
- 16th The Rite of spring w/ Papa @ Atlanta Symphony Hall
- 17th TMS Class ‘20 celebration @ TMS
- 18th Thomas’ graduation @ Waller’s Coffee House
- 18th Zoey’s Grad party @ Eddie’s house
- 18th Emilia’s grad party @ Her house
- 18th Vision Video w/ Mama @ The Masquerade
- 19th Gram’s bday party @ Six Flags
- 19th Unni’s Grad Party @ Unni’s house
- 19th Druid Hills Graduation @ GSU Convocation Center
- 21st Cello check up
- 21st Film developed @ bellows film lab
- 21st monthly friend picnic
- 23rd Cecilie’s grad party @ her house
- 22nd last day of high school
- 24th-27th Lake Retreat w/ Zoey & fam

June:

- 2nd grad party/eoy concert @ Waller’s Coffee shop
- 5th les miserables w/ libbo & mama @ The Fox
- 7th lunch w/ libbo, Granddaddy, & Granhope
- 7th to kill a mockingbird w/ libbo @ the soldier’s & Sailors Theatre
- 7th-17th @ clifftops w/ libbo
- 8th-11th Heather & Hal @ Clifftops
- 14th-17th M & Boys @ Clifftops
- 21st luca sommers babysitting night
- 22nd monthly friend picnic
- 28th-30th in tryon

July:

- 1st-20th in tryon
- 2nd Granddaddy & Grandhope lunch trip
- 4th Dinner & fireworks @ Dave & Terry’s
- 6th-14th Cousin camp
- 20th Violeta’s Quinceanera
- 21st monthly friend picnic
- 23rd powerpoint party @ Anthony’s house

August:

- 4th monthly friend picnic
- 7th movie night @ Anthony’s house
- 9th lunch w/ Nana & Pop @ Brockett Pub
- 10th Crashiversary
- 14th-23rd Find Your Place Intensive Period
- 24th-27th sewanee orientation
- 28th Sewanee Classes begin

September:

- 6th Poster sale @ Spencer Lawn
- 6th redneck wedding @ Courts
- 22nd evensong @ all saint’s chapel
- 27th went out w/ Lydia & co
- 28th went out w/ Lydia & co

October:

- 5th costume shop work day @ TWC
- 8th brian Selznick author talk @ convocation hall
- 9th 19th birthday
- 11th Pride outside @ spencer lawn
- 12th electrician day @ TWC
- 24th-27th natasha, pierre, & the great comet of 1812 first weekend
- 30th orchestra concert
- 30th-1st Babs in Sewanee
- 31st-3rd natasha, pierre, & the great comet of 1812 second weekend

November:

- 31st-3rd natasha, pierre, & the great comet of 1812 second weekend
- 1st Alumni theatre panel @ Proctor Hill theatre
- 2nd went to a grocery store for the first time since very early august
- 3rd natasha, pierre, & the Great comet of 1812 strike
- 5th first ever counseling/therapy appointment @ Sewanee CAPS
- 7th Sewanee recording studio tour
- 8th first production meeting for how we find ourselves @ TWC
- 9th Thank you party for N, P, & t G C o 1812 @ Danielle’s house
- 16th costume shop work day
- 20th-24th house & Pet sitting for kinion
- 22nd dancewise @ TWC w/ Lydia
- 27th dentist
- 27th Saw wicked part 1 @ North dekalb amc

December:

- 1st got bangs again
- 2nd first snow in sewanee
- 3rd apple music replay day
- 5th sewanee xmas tree lighting
- 6th orchestra concert
- 7th santa photos
- 7th Lessons & Carols @ All Saints’
- 8th antioch baptist church shapenote singing trip
- 9th cello christmas caroling in the library
- 9th the Gulf @ TWC Studio theatre
- 9th/10th pulled the second all nighter of the semester (bad bad bad)
- 10th came home from a dirty santa w/ a semi-functional vice
- 11th snow #2
- 12th came home from a dirty santa w/ a box of 4 years of crasin collecting
- 12th pancake night @ clurg
- 16th ice cream sundae day at clurg
- 17th hop shop trip
- 18th second life & L5P trip
- 19th movie night @ Anthony’s
- 20th hang out @ Sydney’s

Welcome one and all to the first of hopefully many quarterly reviews/catch ups of my life recently. Since it is also the end of the year I shall include things that happened in this year in general rather than since the fall equinox. Boy oh boy has it been quite the year!

Some of the highlights include: being in my first musical in a performance role (orchestra member), going to college, not buying the thirty-seven million cars I fell in love with on craigslist, seeing some really awesome shows, and using public transit a lot more than usual.

Some general stats for the year:
- 45 journal entries
- 0 personal sewing projects done or started
- 3 things mended
- 3 all nighters
- 3 classes missed
- A little bit of cross stitch done
- Far too many things purchased
- Not enough sleep slept
- 40,000+ minutes of music listened to (~666+ hours)
- 28 books read - casual storygraph plug
- 78 movies - casual letterboxd plug
- 24(ish?) live shows (both music and theatre)

January
Started dual enrollment classes at Georgia State! Only one of the classes I took (Intro to Astronomy and College Algebra) were transferrable credits to Sewanee (the Astro class) but I am so glad I took both. It was a really good way for me to be out of the house, getting credit, and doing things in the world.
Began working for Libba & Henry on shipment days while Hamilton was in Atlanta.
Took both my brothers and I to OnStage Atlanta’s (local theatre company) production of The Lightning Thief as part of their Christmas presents and had a blast there. I love that musical and no one will ever change that.

February
Saw the live shadow cast of Rocky Horror Picture Show at the Plaza twice this month!
Went to the so-called “Musicals Rave” (read: musicals sing along at loud volume at night) with Sydney at the Masquerade for the first time (I haven’t technically been back to that night a second time but I have intentions to).
I was pulled over for the first time this month…for not having my lights on in a very well lit part of town. Not a big deal but still a very terrifying moment.
Saw Chicago at Chamblee High! What an incredible production it was too.
Started the process of dancing again by going to the adult modern drop in class that had started recently at ADMA.

March
Dadi Freyr at the Variety Playhouse! Fantastic night that I still can’t really believe happened honestly. It’s so weird to see someone on a show and then see them in real life in front of you.
Saw the Kiev Ballet’s production of Giselle at the Atlanta Symphony Hall - beautiful ballet and beautiful dancers.
Super Saturday was awesome as always.
Beetlejuice (tickets were a Christmas present) at the Fox! I absolutely adore this musical and am so glad I got to see it live.
Noahfinnce at the Masquerade rounded off this fantastically show heavy month and going to that show was a last minute decision I’m so glad I made. He sounds great live and the vibe that night was incredible.

April
Shrek the musical was at the Fox and though I face planted on the stairs trying to get to my seat I had a great time at that show.
Visited Sewanee for the first and only time in the application/acceptance process.
This is Spinal Tap on the big screen at the Plaza.
Renaissance Festival trip with my family.
Six at the Fox - accidentally bought tickets for the same day as my neighbors so we all met up for dinner beforehand which was lovely.
Puffs (twice) at Decatur High! What an unexpected and hilarious time that play is.
Mamma Mia! at Druid - gorgeous vocals in that show.
Renaissance Festival trip with Zoey.
Prom! Super fun night but a crazy hectic way to finish off the month.

May
Anthony’s final orchestra concert.
A couple TMS class reunions/events.
Final Girl Scout camping trip!
Eurovision! (We watched it way later this year though for several reasons)
Sooooo many graduations.
Mr. Bungle at the Tabernacle!
The Crow on the big screen at the Plaza!
The Rite of Spring at Atlanta Symphony Hall!
Sooooo many graduation parties.
Vision Video at the Masquerade!
Lake time with the Scott-Mandels.

June
My grad party/show.
Les Miserables at the Fox!
To Kill a Mockingbird at the Soldiers & Sailors Auditorium!
Time up in Sewanee while my aunt worked the adult summer camp up there.
Time in Tryon cat/house sitting for my grandmother.

July
Much more time in Tryon both cat/house sitting for my grandmother and cousin watching during camp time.
Dinner & fireworks at my aunt and uncle’s house.
The quinceanera for one of my brother’s friends!

August
Had lunch with my grandparents in Atlanta so they could see me before I went to college.
Went to college!
Find Your Place intensive period.
Sewanee classes began.

September
Evensong at All Saint’s Chapel.

October
Brian Selznick author talk!
19th birthday. Not my fav birthday ever…
In Natasha, Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 as a cellist! First time in an on stage role in a musical and it rocked. I love that musical with all my heart.
Sewanee orchestra concert.
My grandmother came up to Sewanee!

November
Alumni theatre panel and reunion weekend in general! Very nice to see all those people up there.
Went to a grocery store for the first time in three months - life changing stuff, grocery stores.
Started therapy!
Tour of the Sewanee recording studio and got to meet one of the students running it.
Pet/house sat for Kinion.
Saw Dancewise at the TWC!
Dentist :(
Wicked Part 1 at North Dekalb AMC! What a movie that is.

December
Got bangs again.
Snowed for the first time this school year in Sewanee!
Winter Sewanee orchestra concert.
Photos with Santa…
Lessons & Carols at All Saints’ Chapel! God what an incredible choir we have.
First attendance to the regular Shapenote singing at Antioch Baptist.
The Gulf at the TWC - I love plays about dysfunctional lesbians (hence my love of Wicked).
Between two dirty Santas I ended up with both a partially functional vise and a giant box of dried cranberry packages collected over the span of four years.
Pancake night at Clurg!
Day on the town in Atlanta again finally.
Final friend movie night of the year :)
crimis
First new year’s eve outside of my house.

It has been a hell of a year and I have been all over the place mentally and physically (in terms of actual location and health haha) but boy am I glad to have most of these things behind me so I can now focus on the new and terrifying things heading my way soon! Here’s to hoping for more shows, friends, and good times in 2025 :)

Frantic Assembly’s “Metamorphosis”, written by Franz Kafka and adapted for the stage by Lemn Sissay is a play running almost two hours detailing familial interactions and dynamics before, during, and a little bit after George Samsa turns into a large beetle overnight. The scenery in this play was quite simple overall with one room and limited furniture being the focal point.

The play begins with several scenes following Grete, the younger daughter of the Samsa family, and George, the older brother of the Samsa family, as they interact with George’s room and family and go through their daily routines. George works as a traveling salesman selling fabrics and though he claims to love his job it is clear it is destroying his mental health and ability to function in any capacity. Grete clearly idolizes George, but he doesn’t have the time of day for her anymore. George is the only one in the house that works: Grete is a child, Mrs. Samsa is a stay at home mother, and Mr. Samsa had some sort of health problem years ago and hasn’t worked since then. They were once a well off, possibly even rich, family but are now in debt to the Chief Clerk at the company George works at and their house has fallen into disrepair. The monotony of his life has led George into a state of distraction and distraught, often ignoring his family, sleeping poorly, and spending his days in a haze. This culminates in the day he does not wake up for work on time and the Chief Clerk comes to the house to find him, only for the whole family (and the Chief Clerk) to discover he has become a giant beetle. The rest of the play follows the family attempting to learn to live with him in such a state. The family are all terrified of him, cannot bear to kill him, but cannot live with him either. Each of the characters get monologues and/or soliloquies going into their life story and how that connects to their current position. It ends with his death and the rest of the family’s pivot or return to a “normal” life once again, seemingly having forgotten/choosing to ignore Gregory’s absence in full.

The scenery in this production of Metamorphosis was fairly simple overall, with Gregory’s room being the only large set piece and the only things coming in and out being smaller furniture pieces. The set is rather absent of color, leaving the color to the costuming of Grete and Mrs. Samsa. This lack of color in the set is highlighted and played with during certain scenes at the beginning of act two where there is a lot of play with how it’s lighted. Gregory’s room is set up at least a foot up from the stage and takes up a majority of the actual stage area. Though the floor and ceiling are solid, the walls are fabric and the whole ceiling/wall apparatus can turn, creating a very twisty, cramped, bizarre feeling during some scenes. The light in the ceiling also comes down to interact with the actors during certain scenes, acting as a type of aerial apparatus. The room itself is decorated very much like a generic room - bed, desk, lamp, mirror, etc.

The set was very effective; the lack of symmetry, color, and general feeling of off-ness felt very reflective of Gregory’s mental state and continued to reflect it as he lost his grip more and more and eventually started wreaking havoc on his very room that he sought refuge in at the beginning. The way settings were inferred by actors standing on a bare (or near bare) stage in front of his room was very impressive and entirely down to how believably the actors played those scenes. The interactions possible with the set, particularly in the first half of act two were really interesting to me with the way the ceiling light was used as a physical way to show how far Gregory was from his normal behavior. The use of the bed as an entrance and exit was also very effective, allowing for several near jump scares with the Chief Clerk and other unexpected character locations. The levels available for the choreography and staging really elevated the movement throughout the show even if at times I did have some confusion as to whether they were moving throughout rooms or just levels.

The way the set interacted with lighting (especially during the end of act one and the beginning of act two) was also a particularly stand out part of the show and set. The combination of projections and practicals created a very specific effect showing the change in Gregory’s mental state. The lighting choices added a lot of color and warmth to the set at times of great change in both Gregory and the family. The use of darkness and sudden, different types of lights in that darkness was both very immersive and distancing, once again reflecting the change in dynamics among the characters.

Overall I found the set for Frantic Assembly’s “Metamorphosis” effective and interesting. Though I wasn’t sure at first how the plot could work with such a minimal set, the creativity shown in the staging and acting made it work very well. I would recommend people to see this recording of the play. The direction and editing of the recording also shows the set and choreography off in a very intimate and engaging way that had me drawn in immediately and held my full attention the whole time.

There are over 218,000 soldiers from World War I and World War II buried in organized, marked graves in cemeteries or monument sites managed by the American Battle Monuments Commission (ABMC). (ABMC 2016) There are many more unmarked graves worldwide which were possibly lost to time as paperwork has been lost, those who had memory of the burials died, and the natural processes of decomposition and landscape changes erased any signs left of the burial sites. The landscapes in which the dead were buried during times of war and the effect those burials then had on the landscape are important and often overlooked parts of the anthropological and historical context of the world. This paper will pull together points about the history of Graves Registration Services (GRS) companies in America, American groups working in different geographies with the work of identification and repatriation, and how all of this work has affected the landscapes on their respective land to shine light on a part of war and national recovery after war often overlooked. Body repatriation and commemoration is still a conversation in the zeitgeist with thousands of dead overseas still unidentified and many currently lost, along with some body identification scandals happening somewhat frequently in recent years. Identification and repatriation is a slow, pricey process that relies on a wide variety of people to keep it going.

In World War I, different branches of the United States’ military developed methods of marking and keeping track of the dead buried overseas that were then codified into army regulations. These were the standards for the next several years; Graves Registration Service companies were trained in these standards between World War I and World War II. They included practices such as burying bodies away from the battlefield in cemeteries with individual graves if possible, making maps and lists of the locations of marked and unmarked graves (including when possible any identifying information about the man buried there), and marking the graves to the best of their ability if possible at all. Burial sites with fewer than 12 bodiesburied close together were discouraged by World War II for fear of losing the location of the bodies. These practices were standard through the end of World War I up to just before World War II. In the lead up to the United States’ entry into World War II, the army was beginning a revamp and retraining of all Graves Registration Service companies with updated rules andregulations; unfortunately this new version of the GRS was not to be because the United Statesjoined in the war before any GRS companies were fully trained. This resulted in differentportions of the American army documenting their dead in drastically different and inharmonious ways throughout World War II. Those that generally opted to continue using the older methods solidified in World War I tended to have lower numbers and percentages of unidentified or lost dead. (Martin 2016) In the process and aftermath of the Vietnam war, the general sentiment changed from “burying them where they fell” to “bringing them home”. (Wagner 2019) This was partially because of the strong opposition to the Vietnam War and general views changing in America during this time.

Some of the main geographical areas body identification and repatriation have been focused on since the end of World War II are previously Soviet-controlled areas, Southern Asia, the Pacific Islands, and mainland Europe in general. Cooperation between American officials and officials of other countries interested in repatriation work have been in great flux since this work began after World War I. By 1998 the American Government was in communication with at least Vietnam, Laos, Cambodia, South Korea, and China. Overall, communication and progress on the remains identification and repatriation projects were going well in all mentioned above; however some were more helpful than others. At the time, China was cooperating well regarding World War II and Vietnam War cases, but they were still working to get on good terms and agreement regarding Korean War cases. The American government is also very clear in memos detailing this work that they are using this communication as a preliminary point to start other conversations and to influence the other country’s economies and governments. (Kartman 1998, 18) Starting quickly after World War II, the American government and military dispatched groups to different European areas either currently or previously held by the Soviet government to begin negotiations with Soviet forces and leaders to initiate trades. Though the concept of these trades began with the idea of “remains for remains”, it quickly became evident that the Soviets were much more interested in having alive Soviet citizens currently living elsewhere returned to the USSR. This resulted in conversations where the two sides were aiming for the same goal: bolstering a sense of national wholeness and honoring the dead. They were, however, approaching that goal with entirely different morals and world views. Americans were coming in with a very individualistic view, wanting the individuals who died to be recognized, returned, remembered, and celebrated. In contrast, the Soviets were coming in with a very collectivistic view, wanting the living to be returned to the group and the dead to be viewed as a whole having died for the USSR, generally choosing to remember and recognize the war dead via mass grave sites under or near monuments dedicated to those unnamed soldiers who died for the Soviet collective. The only individual memorials in Soviet-controlled areas were for high status, significant figures such as Vladimir Lenin. This moral difference in the way American and Soviet teams approached their work caused a lot of miscommunication, mistrust, and suspicion when attempting to work together to reach their shared goal. (Bernstein 2016) In some mass graves in Europe there was a large amount of commingling between remains of opposing armies and powers. This made identification even more difficult and forced even more cooperation and teamwork between the still opposing sides working on the recovery of the remains. (Cole 2018)

Having to bury the dead of war relatively close to where they fell for efficiency's sake often creates cemeteries and burial grounds in locations not necessarily ideal for burying people. Beyond the physical land not always being the best, historically many war dead have been buried directly in the ground with no access to body bags, burial shrouds, coffins, or any other type of physical barrier between the body and Earth. This causes the decomposition process to begin much sooner than it otherwise would have, making the eventual identification process much harder due to the most recognizable and identifiable parts of the person’s body having decomposed. For those in the groups responsible for locating the graves, if they have any clear record of a burial location at all it is at most a hand drawn map from the time of the war. (Martin 2016) Though this is better than nothing, it is highly imprecise and when one combines that with landscape changes that are possible (especially over long periods of time) such as landslides, floods, animal-related changes (burrowing, erosion, etc.), human-related changes (farming, landscaping, erosion, deforestation, urbanization, etc.), that results in a remains-locating process that is time, labor, and money intensive, often frustrating, and requires a lot of paperwork and collaboration with local governments and people. Accessibility to some specific areas was also affected by obstacles like illegal Soviet uranium mines.

“Above all, officers [of the Soviet Military Administration of Germany] were afraid that the foreign teams would uncover information about the Kismet enterprise that operated German uranium mines for the Soviet nuclear program. Until 1949, foreign teams were banned entirely from Thuringia and Saxony provinces, where Kismet operated…When a team’s itinerary contained a site where sensitive work was occurring, Vershinin instructed the liaison officers to inform the foreign teams that there was ‘an epidemic in the area, damaged bridges and so on.’” (Bernstein 2016)

This quote details one such example and how Soviet officers avoided it. If there were remains in that area, they simply would have to wait until a much later time. In a very different circumstance, chapter one of Khary Oronde Polk’s book Contagions of Empire: Scientific Racism, Sexuality, and Black Military Works Abroad, 1898-1948 begins by detailing the death of African American Sergeant La David Johnson in 2017 in Niger. “From the sky, the tree’s spine-bearing branches netted together to form an impenetrable shroud, concealing the location of Sergeant Johnson’s body from the god’s-eye view of surveillance drones for over thirty-six hours.” (Polk 2020) This quote shows another side of how landscape can influence death and burial. His position at the time of his death made it harder for both humans and technology to find him, identify him, and eventually bury him. Though Johnson was buried back home in the United States, the strong influence of landscape on his death was another angle helpful to see the full picture.

Remains discovery, recovery, identification, and repatriation is a process the US government and independent groups have been working on for nearly 100 years now and theyare nowhere near done. There are still thousands of people buried in unmarked graves and mass graves overseas waiting for the teams slowly combing through the mess that is the ones currently known about to get to them. The process of identification and repatriation are often deeply emotionally important to the family of the deceased and help them finally find a sense of closure after what could be a very long time wondering what happened to their loved one. Researching the history of military remains identification, some of the largest projects in the field, and how all of that related back to the landscape of death and burial was very eye opening in the amount of work that is required for each step of the process and how involved it is with every aspect of life. In her 2019 book What Remains: Bringing America’ s Missing Home from the Vietnam War, Sarah Wagner says, “The work of the dead is not limited to the past.” This is a quote that speaks to a sentiment felt across all sources cited and read in this research: the work of handling, honoring, and caring for the dead is something that is ongoing and constantly needing work.


Bibliography

American Battle Monuments Commission. 2016. 9 Important Facts about America’ s Overseas Military Cemeteries. May 27. https://www.abmc.gov/news-events/news/9-important-facts-about-americas-overseas-military-cemeteries.
Bernstein, Seth. 2016. “Burying the Alliance: Interment, Repatriation and the Politics of the Sacred in Occupied Germany.” Journal of Contemporary History 52 (3): 710-730. http://www.jstor.org/stable/44504070.
Cole, Paul M. 2018. POW/MIA Accounting: Volume I: Searching for America’ s Missing Servicemen in the Soviet Union. Springer Nature Singapore. https://research.ebsco.com/linkprocessor/plink?id=e320594b-f104-308a-a678-18a96a1707e8.
Kartman, Charles. 1998. “POW/MIA Accounting Efforts in Asia.” US Department of State Dispatch 9, HeinOnline, July 1. https://research.ebsco.com/linkprocessor/plink?id=e7ecd543-a5f8-36c5-8c92-06f7d0fa3fcb.
Martin, Christopher J. 2016. “The Aftermath of Hell: Graves Registration Policy and U.S. Marine Corps Losses in the Solomon Islands During World War.” Marine Corps History, Winter. https://www.usmcu.edu/Portals/218/MCH%20V ol_%202%20No_%202_1.pdf.
Polk, Khary Oronde. 2020. “We Don’t Need Another Hero: Death, Honor, and the Archive of American Militarism.” In Contagions of Empire: Scientific Racism, Sexuality, and Black Military Workers Abroad, 1898–1948. University of North Carolina Press. http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.5149/9781469655529_polk.6.
Wagner, Sarah E. 2019. What Remains: Bringing America’ s Missing Home from the Vietnam War. Harvard University Press. http://www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctv24trcjt.

Kinky Boots at the Adelphi theatre is a captivating, unique show telling a story inspired by real life about acceptance, collaboration, and the magic of a well made boot. The scenic design of the show is a mix of hard realism and theatrically distanced realism.

Charlie Price is the son of the owner of one of the best shoe factories in the world. He is in the process of moving to London with his fiancee when his father dies and he suddenly has to figure out what to do with the shoe factory and the people who work there. While in London, he has a chance meeting with Lola, a drag queen. He gets inspired by Lola and Lauren to change the purpose of the shoe factory entirely from making regular men’s formal shoes to making sturdy heeled boots made to stand up to the abuse shoes get put through in performance. Don makes Lola participate in a boxing match to prove his manliness. Lola intentionally loses it to save Don’s dignity, and Don then has to learn to accept someone for who they are in return. Charlie blows up at everyone and though everyone ostensibly leaves, Don finally accepts Charlie as himself and (unseen to the audience) pulls everyone back to the factory to finish the boots for the fashion show they’re preparing for in Milan. This saves a huge portion of the fashion show but with the models fired and Lola still mad at Charlie, they are missing the models needed to have a proper show. Charlie decides to do his best and show the boots but as he is going down the runway, Lola and her girls from the club show up and absolutely steal the show, showing the boots better than anyone else could have.

This production is set on a proscenium style stage. The mix of old factory visuals and modern lights, signs, and costuming creates a somewhat timeless feel, with only small details like the use of cell phones confirming the time period it takes place in. The scenery is generally realistic, with the furniture and walls being very reminiscent of real life old factories. The other locations are less precisely depicted: the nightclub Lola and her girls are in has enough smaller moving set pieces to absolutely come across as a stage in a club but doesn’t make use as much of the walls, the fashion show in Milan has a couple central set pieces and does make use of the background but the focus is mostly the actors and as the number progresses it abstracts from the fashion show quite a bit.

The set and actors remain within the confines of the stage but they make use of every bit of that space. The main set is the factory: a back wall and two angled walls coming forward and opening up as they near the audience. Though this set is mostly used for scenes in the factory, they change to be mostly dark with a couple tasteful arches of lights (built into the I-beams and such) during the nightclub scene, a couple dance numbers in the factory (mixing both the factory visuals and club visuals), and Lola’s number in the nursing home. There is one wall in multiple pieces that comes in from both sides of the stage in front of the main set multiple times for scenes outside of the factory. For the final number at the fashion show in Milan it appears new walls come out in front of the factory walls with neon style signs and lights layed out over them. The most used moving set piece is an office space in the factory up a set of stairs. The bottom portion of it is used for many things throughout the course of the production: packing area for the factory, bathroom, etc.

My favorite part of the scenery was the use of conveyor belts as both scenery for factory scenes actually interacting with boots coming down them to be packed but also as an interactive play space for the actors. The choreography and fun that was had with using them as a tool for levels, character showing, and secondary moving stage was innovative, exciting, and a little scary. The scenes in smaller locations such as the pub, Lola’s bedroom, Nicola’s London apartment, the nightclub, etc. all had set pieces enough that they were clear as to what they were, but did not do more than they needed to. The contrast of the more muted, dull colors in the factory and the bright, colorful world of Lola and Milan is a wonderful contrast I didn’t consciously notice on first watch but couldn’t stop thinking about once I did. This is also reflected in the costumes: the clothes of the regular people working in the factory are not particularly stand out but both Nicola (living in London) and Lola (and her girls) are dressed very colorfully and boldly. This is shown even more clearly when Lola shows up in a suit one day and it is very noticeable the difference in color palette and vibe.

Overall this was a fantastic set. I love the way it used smaller pieces and lighting together to provide intimacy in smaller, closer scenes and the way it conversely felt when opened fully up for the bigger scenes. It looked fantastic, beautifully blending the very real parts of the brick and steel of the factory with the heightened performance of the locations of Lola’s performances.

Evolution of the Cemetery Landscape

In the data I collected I did not find that the two areas we looked at had specific time periods they were most active in. There was a thorough mix of all decades since the cemetery’s inception throughout. Overall a majority of the headstones I recorded were Tablet style or Raised Top Inscription style. Though the Obelisk style is the most noticeable in the cemetery, many of them being very tall and standing out quite a bit, they are in the minority for sure. Most of the most eye-catching tall Cross Obelisks have Celtic cross and knot patterns worked into their design. Many of the headstones with a Cross shaped Obelisk were Clergy folk but not all; some were simply very dedicated to the church.

There is a general trend in style popularity: Tablet style headstones were the most popular in the mid 1800’s to early 1900’s, Block style headstones took over that popularity in the mid to late 1900’s, with Raised Top Inscription style headstones taking over in the 2000s. There has also been a rise recently in more unconventional shaped headstones such as a natural, unpolished, unshaped rock. This is not the current trend as far as I can see, but is something I have anecdotally noticed on my own more in recent years.

One of the most customizable features on headstones that people tend to make use of is the ability to pick a specific font. Across the years and people, though there are certainly some main fonts and design choices that tend to go together, there are many where the text stands out in comparison to those around it due to the font choices made. Many Tablet style headstones are also made very unique in the way the top of them has been carved, many not being a simple rounded oval shape but being quite intricate shapes incorporating scrolls, floral motifs, nonstandard cross influences, etc. A majority of headstones I recorded had at least one cross on it in some way, designs differing based on headstone type. Many also had Bible quotes inscribed, though some were not cited as the Bible, simply left as a quote on the headstone.

Social Differences

In the historically white section of the cemetery, headstones tended to be taller and more elaborate. The historically white section is also fenced and at the top of the hill, making it less susceptible to flooding, animal scrounging, etc. There is more of a tradition with grave goods in the historically black section of the cemetery, with most white gravesites being undecorated. The historically white section also has a trend of raised beds sectioned off very clearly in sometimes obvious familial plots, sometimes unclear lots that seem loosely associated but not as clearly related as the family plots. The historically black section is less obviously divided by family or plot, nor do they have the raised, walled sections we see in the historically white section.

Reflection

The information Professor Smith gave us in both his in person tour and the paper assigned to us for reading were very informative to me. I have always loved spending time in cemeteries and enjoyed learning about preservation efforts specific to cemeteries, so learning more about how the historic flora of cemeteries continues to be something focused on in cemetery preservation, repair, restoration, and locating efforts was very interesting and eye opening to me. The symbolism and tradition of certain plants was something I was familiar with in other burial traditions but not something I knew about being in American culture, especially coming from European settler traditions. Looking back at my data, I do wish I had been able to get even more data (especially properly noted things on the historically black section) so as to feel my data and findings more appropriately representative of larger trends.

I have chosen my great-great-aunt Mignon’s ballroom dancing shoes as my necromaterial object. Mignon died in 2018 when I was 12 years old. Despite my age I was quite close with her while she was alive and was then involved quite heavily with estate after her death because my mother was one of two executors of her estate and there was a lot to do. When Mignon died, I ended up getting many items that were hers (we were similar sizes and had similar tastes). Out of everything though, the two pairs of ballroom shoes of hers I got are by far the most special to me.

Mignon took up ballroom dancing after the death of her husband, Alec, in the mid 1990’s. Seeing as she was in her 60’s by then, she danced for about a decade but not much longer. I also danced for around a decade, and when I was really young dance was the first thing we really connected through. When we would go over to visit I would show her the latest dance I was working on in class and I loved the conversations that happened because of our shared love of dance. The two pairs of her shoes I now own are mass produced ballroom shoes she used for many dances.

Though the shoes have no direct association with formal death rituals, I did inherit them upon Mignon’s death. They are not heirlooms in the sense that they have great historical value to the family, society, or even several generations in their history already, but they have great significance and meaning to me. When I first got them I wore them all the time, delighting in both the physical feeling of how the shoes are structured and how they feel to wear and the continued mental and emotional connection with Mignon despite her physically being gone. It was my second experience going through grief of someone I was close to but my first experience so involved in the process directly after death and having physical items to cling to for grounding was more helpful than I would have expected.

Since her death, my feet have grown just enough so that they unfortunately no longer fit. This physical change on my part has changed their role in my life - I no longer wear them regularly but they do remain taken care of and in a place I see often. They continue to bring my joy and a connection to Mignon even though my direct interaction with them has altered.

Because Mignon has no direct descendants, I was in some ways one of her grandchildren. I don’t expect the shoes to continue to be passed down generations after I pass on as others do not have the same attachment to her nor the physical shoes that I do, so most likely their afterlife will simply be an eventual casual disposal. As much as that feels like a sad future for them to me, there is also no reason for me to force those following me to keep them for no reason.

The shoes’ necrosociality is very specific to me. No one else would have the same interaction with them and connection to Mignon that I have had. For me they had a very noticeable impact soon after her death in helping me ground myself in the chaos of death and the emotional rollercoaster I was on. They reminded me that someone is only as dead as their memory and that I had the ability to remember her for who she was, an artist and a wonderful woman, and that I could get through the rough spots to create art and dance once more.

For the past two years, nearly every month, I have organized/hosted a picnic with a varying group of my friends. It was something I stumbled into doing by accident - I’d had the idea in late 2021 to hold a gorgeous fantasy picnic with pretty much everyone I knew to both introduce new and old friends and get myself out of the house and thinking about something other than school. It was not only a great time at the actual picnic; I realized I had a lot of fun with the organization part. I did research on the parks and cemeteries in the city, cross referenced possible dates with different schools’ schedules, handwrite invitations, etc. and loved it all.

I ended up coming back to the idea in August 2022 when I started homeschooling myself and realized I needed to force socialization on myself. They got a lot less elaborate as they became a more regular thing but I continued to switch up their locations and themes. Honestly the theming was probably one of my favorite parts of them - we did so many themes by the time the two years were through. Commitment to the theme definitely varied person to person and season to season but it was always so fun to see how we would all interpret the theme. Getting to have a set time to be outside, hanging out with friends in a super low stakes situation, dressing up, sometimes cooking/baking, and see new interpersonal relationships grow and change was the best and I will forever cherish those times.

This idea is something I want to continue to do in my life, but I am yet to work out how to implement it in my life currently (mostly cos it’s the season of cold).

2022

2023

2024

The Scarlet Letter is a book written by Nathaniel Hawthorne in 1850 about Hester Prynne, a woman who lives in Boston in the 1640s and has a child with a man she is not married to and whose father’s identity she refuses to reveal. The town shuns her, makes her wear an embroidered “A” on her person at all times, treats her and her daughter Pearl very poorly, and generally excludes them from any and all social goings on, engagements, niceties, and society in general. The book is written from a point of view where the author is looking back at a time he considers much more strict, plain, and overall backwards as established by this passage in the second chapter: “The age had not so much refinement, that any sense of impropriety restrained the wearers of petticoat and farthingale from stepping forth into the public ways…Morally, as well as materially, there was a coarser fibre in those wives and maidens of old English birth and breeding than in their fair descendants, separated from them by a series of six or seven generations…The women who were now standing about the prison-door stood within less than half a century of the period when the man-like Elizabeth had been the not altogether unsuitable representative of the sex.” (Hawthorne 52)


As someone with an interest in historical dress and costuming, while I read the book, I began to wonder whether Mr. Hawthorne’s descriptions of the clothing of the puritans as described by him was accurate to the evidence we have of the fashions of the time. Most of the descriptions of clothing in The Scarlet Letter can be broken into a few main categories: Hester Prynne, Pearl Prynne, and the general puritan public.


Hester Prynne’s clothing is first described in her first introduction, reading, “Her attire, which indeed, she had wrought for the occasion in prison, and had modelled much after her own fancy, seemed to express the attitude of her spirit, the desperate recklessness of her mood, by its wild and picturesque peculiarity.” (Hawthorne 55-56) This initial description does not give a very clear picture of what Hester has made for herself to wear during her public trial, however later descriptions of her dress style do give a clearer mental image of what she generally wears. The following sections, all from later parts of the book, create a clearer image of her style and general modus operandi for conducting herself in public:

“Her own dress was of the coarsest materials and the most sombre hue, with only that one ornament–the scarlet letter–which it was her doom to wear.” (Hawthorne 88)

“Even the attractiveness of her person had undergone a similar change. It might be partly owing to the studied austerity of her dress, and partly to the lack of demonstration in her manners. It was a sad transformation, too, that her rich and luxuriant hair had either been cut off, or was so completely hidden by a cap, that not a shining lock of it ever once gushed into the sunshine.” (Hawthorne 179)

“On this public holiday, as on all other occasions for seven years past, Hester was clad in a garment of coarse gray cloth. Not more by its hue than by some indescribable peculiarity in its fashion, it had the effect of making her fade personally out of sight and outline; while again the scarlet letter brought her back from this twilight indistinctness, and revealed her under the moral aspect of its own illumination.” (Hawthorne 251)

Though we as the reader still do not have an exact description of the cut of her gowns, the closures or any other details on her clothes, when read in context there are more direct descriptions of the other citizens of Boston’s dress fashions and inclinations.


The general public get descriptions by Hawthorne throughout the book both as time passes and as there are public holidays and occasions which have different dress codes than everyday life. Hawthorne opens the book itself with a description of the crowd in a now famous line: “A throng of bearded men, in sad-coloured garments and grey steeple-crowned hats, inter-mixed with women, some wearing hoods, and others bareheaded, was assembled…” (49) Hawthorne later writes of the difference between formal and casual wear, saying:

“[Hester] bore on her breast, in the curiously embroidered letter, a specimen of her delicate and imaginative skill…to add the richer and more spiritual adornment of human ingenuity to their fabrics of silk and gold. Here, indeed, in the sable simplicity that generally characterised the Puritanic modes of dress, there might be an infrequent call for the finer productions of her handiwork. Yet the taste of the age, demanding whatever was elaborate in compositions of this kind, did not fail to extend its influence over our stern progenitors, who had cast behind them so many fashions which it might seem harder to dispense with. Public ceremonies, such as ordinations, the installation of magistrates, and all that could give majesty to the forms in which a new government manifested itself to the people, were, as a matter of policy, marked by a stately and well-constructed ceremonial, and a sombre, but yet a studied magnificence. Deep ruffs, painfully wrought bands, and gorgeously embroidered gloves, were all deemed necessary to the official state of men assuming the reins of power, and were readily allowed to individuals dignified by rank or wealth, even while sumptuary laws forbade these and similar extravagances to the plebeian order.” (87)

This passage gives a more defined idea of what the puritans in The Scarlet Letter were wearing for formal occasions. The puritans originally arrived in Boston in 1630, so not only would their fashion sense come from the 1620’s (when they were last in England), but they would not have been getting regular updates on the current popular fashions in England and mainland Europe due to the infrequency of Atlantic crossings. Their disconnect from the fashions of Europe and their puritan ideals led to a more modest and at that point out of date fashion habits. English fashion in the 1620’s still had a very strong influence from the late 1500’s with large ruffs and skirts and slim bodices. Though the ruling class were the members of society we see depicted most often in paintings of the time and the layman could not afford to dress as lavishly as the ruling class did, as have humans throughout all of time, the public tended to imitate the ruling class’ fashions to the best of their ability. The puritans would have taken these general fashions with them to the “New World” and continued to follow them, eventually developing their own styles as they separated more and more from Europe. The ruffs, bands, gloves, and generally extravagant and indulgent styles described for public holidays and large events are styles mainly resting in the 1600’s to 1620’s. Though there were ruffs and bands and such in the 1630’s and later in Europe, they quickly deflated, flattened, and generally simplified as time went on.


Though the descriptions of the puritans everyday garb is generally somber and outdated when compared to the current fashions in England, Hester has been described as wearing even more somber and plain clothing than her countrymen but choosing to clad her daughter, Pearl in colorful, beautiful, clothes.

“The child had a native grace which does not invariably co-exist with faultless beauty; its attire, however simple, always impressed the beholder as if it were the very garb that precisely became it best. But little Pearl was not clad in rustic weeds. Her mother, with a morbid purpose that may be better understood hereafter, had bought the richest tissues that could be procured, and allowed her imaginative faculty its full play in the arrangement and decoration of the dresses which the child wore before the public eye. So magnificent was the small figure when thus arrayed, and such was the splendour of Pearl’s own proper beauty, shining through the gorgeous robes which might have extinguished a paler loveliness, that there was an absolute circle of radiance around her on the darksome cottage floor. And yet a russet gown, torn and soiled with the child’s rude play, made a picture of her just as perfect.” (Hawthorne 96)

“Her mother, in contriving the child’s garb, had allowed the gorgeous tendencies of her imagination their full play, arraying her in a crimson velvet tunic of a peculiar cut, abundantly embroidered in fantasies and flourishes of gold thread.” (Hawthorne 109)

These descriptions of Pearl show what Hester might have adorned herself with, had she not been shamed and forced into a role of existing as little as possible. In general, children would have been wearing similar styles as adults, though less formal and made with less precious materials.


Overall, the descriptions of puritan garments and styles as described in Hawthorne’s novel are congruent with extant examples we have from the time period in the form of paintings, writings, and clothing examples. Hawthorne’s perspective looking back at the time may be restrictive, but he appears to have done some research on the time period. This was not the outcome I expected to find when I started this research, as Hawthorne’s clear distaste for the puritan’s choices overshadowed the actual descriptions but having the opportunity to pull the writing apart and parse it for what it was actually saying gave me a new perspective on the work.


Works Cited

De Critz, Thomas. Ester Traescand and Son. 1645, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Ester_Tradescant_and_son_detail.jpg.
Hals, Frans. Portrait of a Woman Standing. 1618, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Frans_Hals_045.jpg.
Hawthorne, Nathaniel. The Scarlet Letter. 1850.
Ketel, Cornelis. Double Portrait of a Brother and Sister. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:KETEL_Cornelis_Double_Portrait_Of_A_Brother_And_Sister.jpg.
Larkin, William. Portrait of Mary Radclyffe. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Mary_Radclyffe_by_William_Larkin.jpg.
Mijtens, Daniël. Portrait of Charles I of England (1600-1649). 1629, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Charles_1_Mijtens.jpg.
Pot, Hendrik Gerritsz. Portrait of Henrietta Maria. 1632, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Pot_Henrietta_Maria.jpg.
Rubens, Peter Paul. George Villiers (1592-1628), 1st Duke of Buckingham. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Portrait_of_George_Villiers,_1st_Duke_of_Buckingham_(by_Peter_Paul_Rubens).jpg.
Schmidt, Göran. Tröja, klänningsliv, som med största sannolikhet burits av drottning Kristina vid ca 2 års ålder. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Kl%C3%A4nningsliv,_drottning_Kristina_-_Livrustkammaren_-_7237.tif.
Van Dyck, Anthony. A Genoese Noblewoman and Her Son. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Anthonis_van_Dyck_023.jpg.
Van Dyck, Anthony. Portrait of Lord John Stuart and His Brother Lord Bernard Stuart (Later Earl of Lichfield). https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Sir-Anthony-van-Dyck-Lord-John-Stuart-and-His-Brother-Lord-Bernard-Stuart.jpg.
Van Dyck, Anthony. Portrait of Maria Louis de Tassis (1611-1638), Daughter of Canon Antoine de Tassis. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Anthonis_van_Dyck_021.jpg.
Van Loenen, Jan Cornelisz. Portrait of a Two-Year Old Girl. 1636, https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:M%C3%A5lning._Portr%C3%A4tt_av_tv%C3%A5-%C3%A5rig_flicka._Jan_Cornelis_van_Loenen_-_Hallwylska_museet_-_86731.tif.

January:

- 3rd return to school

February:

- 10th School choice application deadline
- 20th-24th Assistant teacher in dads garage camp
- 24th dsa audition

March:

- 11th Monthly friend Picnic
- 16th driver's license test
- 18th Super Saturday

April:

- 15th monthly friend picnic
- 15th Cecilie in Clue
- 23rd half-BDay ren faire trip

May:

- 9th, 11th, & 13th Eurovision
- 13th foam workshop @ scraplanta w/ Thomas
- 26th End of junior year
- 27th monthly friend picnic
- 31st halocene w/ mom

June:

- 16th Star wars night @ Anthony’s house
- 20th monthly friend picnic
- 24th Thomas’ birthday party
- 25th craft time @ Tenley’s house
- 26th Kate’s birthday party
- 27th Mary Ellen and Betsey got foster kittens

July:

- 8th-19th Cousin camp
- 9th Highland Games
- 14th Carowinds trip for Julian’s bday
- 15th Aanika’s Elephants
- 19th movie night @ Zoey’s house
- 20th monthly friend picnic

August:

- 4th worbla workshop @ decatur maker space w/ thomas
- 6th movie night @ Anthony’s house
- 10th crashiversary
- 7th Beginning of senior year
- 19th monthly friend picnic

September:

- 2nd Dragon Con w/ Thomas
- 3rd Dragon con (Did dance lesson w/ kate)
- 9th Unni’s 17th bday party
- 16th Can drive people not related to me
- 23rd autumn equinox feast
- 29th first gaybie movie night @ meo & b’s

October:

- 5th zoey’s softball senior night game
- 6th-9th tryon trip w/ Sydney
- 9th 18th birthday
- 19th cecilie in The Book of Will
- 20th bday party/Doctor Who indoctrination
- 21st Folk Tales, Ragas, and Lost Love w/ Papa @ Atlanta Symphony Hall
- 22nd monthly friend picnic
- 26th Waffle house lunch w/ zoey
- 27th Netherworld w/ Anthony
- 28th non official girl scout meeting
- 29th movie night @ Anthony’s house

November:

- 1st Dual Enrollment application deadline
- 2nd Eye Exam @ Warby Parker
- 8th Labyrinth @ The Plaza
- 11th emilia/mick bday party
- 12th nc ren faire day
- 14th The Wiz @ The Fox w/ MEO & B
- 17th Super Mario Bros in 35 mm @ The Plaza w/ the whole fam
- 18th frendsgiving @ Kate’s
- 19th monthly friend picnic
- 20th doctor who marathon w/ Kate
- 23rd doctor who’s 60th birthday
- 26th sunset pig load in

December:

- 9th finding nemo @ TMS
- 9th Holiday pary/without a recipe contest
- 16th movie day @ Anthony’s
- 17th sunset pig load out
- 20th friend present drop off
- 21st winter solstice
- 22nd doctor who marathon w/ kate
- 23rd nana & pop here for xmas things
- 29th hair chop

As Russel T. Davies (current showrunner of Doctor Who) said in a recent radio interview, “I think [Doctor Who] calls out to you when you’re eight years old and beginning to realize that you’re unique…and round about that time, you see this very individual show with a very remarkable lead character…and I think something wraps itself into your soul at that age and never lets go…”

Doctor Who is a British sci-fi show about a time traveling outer space alien and the (often) human person/people they travel the time and space with. As of 2023, it has existed for 60 years, and more seasons are currently in the works. There is a timeless beauty to the creativity the show has always displayed–they have never had a very robust budget to make the show, yet they have told stories that scared and enthralled audiences for decades. It is a show of wonder and fun and acceptance and has felt like home since I watched my first episodes as an eight or nine year old. I feel that Russel T. Davies’ quote perfectly describes the way the show can grab someone no matter what age they are.

For the show’s entire run, it has been committed to being progressive, heartfelt, and even informative (it was started as a way to teach kids about science and history, afterall). Though many “fans” will complain of the show suddenly talking about politics and the climate crisis in the past five years or so, the show has episodes directly talking about the effects of climate change and related topics going back to the early ‘70s, and has always made indirect jabs at conservative viewpoints, ideas, and occasionally people.

The main throughline in the show, both on-screen and off, is change – how change can be good, how change can be hard, how change can be sad, how change can be unwanted, but that change is truly inevitable. Through its ups and downs and weird sidetracks in the past 60 years, the heart of the show and the love it shows to its characters, its fans, its world has been steadfast and consistent and because of that, it has created a wonderful, thriving, loving, creative fan base across the world. It is one of the oddest shows of the day–its fans are thrilled it's still around and thriving, but no one’s quite sure how the show originally about an old man, his granddaughter, and her teachers going on trips to learn about science and history has had the cultural impact it has and has gone on for so long.

Because of the long and confusing history of the show, the best place to learn about the show is from the dedicated fans. From articles and essays and lists to videos and podcasts and unique productions extending the lore of the show, the Doctor Who fanatics are truly the best source of information on the show, and as far as I can tell, always will be.

In June of 2020, I was looking for community in a time of isolation and found the Doctor Who Amino. Though the site ended up not being the community I wanted, I found a group called Spectral Horizons that was just starting up and was making audio dramas. They were looking for editors, so I signed up, having a basic knowledge in editing and an interest in learning more about different types of editing. Through that group over the past three years I have not only made friends and contacts across the world but learned a lot about editing, writing, production organization, and how other creatives work. The dramas produced by Spectral Horizons have become a major creative outlet for me and it has been inspiring and wonderful to be part of a growing creative group.

Once upon a time there was a girl.
And she didn’t do much.
At most, she spent her days reading, or looking at a window, or simply gazing into the void.
No matter what she did though, her shadow followed.
Most people didn’t seem bothered by their shadows. Most people didn’t even notice their shadows.
But she was not most people.

Her shadow was, by all accounts, a perfectly normal shadow. No one ever wondered if it was alive, or separate from her, or odd in any way. No one, that is, except her.

Though she didn’t exactly think about any of those specific things either. Truly she didn’t think about it specifically much at all. Usually it was just an afterthought, seemingly tangentially related to every topic ever in her head.

When she was nine she noticed that every topic in her head pointed back to her shadow, but she didn’t put any thoughts toward that until much, much later.

It wasn’t until she was stranded on the island, waiting for a train she feared would never come that she really started noticing it.


At first she just thought time was passing faster than she thought it should be, but judging by the clock ticking by, that couldn’t be true. Then she thought she was just beginning to see things as she slowly descended into boredom-driven madness. Then she thought maybe there was an eclipse or some other thing happening to the sun to make things look weird. Eventually she came to the conclusion that she had found too many explanations for something that didn’t make much sense at all. For days, she had sat at the train station, waiting for the train off the island, totally alone save for the clock. And during that time, she had spent most of it sitting on one bench next to the track just in case the train forgot to stop at the station. Yet her shadow moved around, sometimes on the low wall opposite the train tracks, sometimes keeping close to her feet, sometimes dancing off down the concrete platform, but always tethered to her. Often the connection point was so small it looked like an entirely separate entity but if you looked close enough you could always see a point.

With no one else around to talk to, she started talking to the shadow, commenting on how the weather was, how the sea looked in the distance, constantly pushing and pulling on the rock she was stuck on, talking about her plans for the future and how annoyed she was that the train hadn’t come, about the things she wished she had with her and the things she was glad she’d left behind. The shadow never answered back or seemed to hear her at all.

But as the hope of the train arriving soon faded and the solitude crept in, she started to feel that the shadow was her one true friend in the world. Never responding, just letting her figure things out, never playing, but keeping out of the way, never initiating interaction, but never ending it either.

The floor was red again and so was the chair. Slowly, everything was turning red. It started as a light red, then deepened as I looked around, panic rising in my chest once again, going through blood red to deeper shades of magenta, down into a purpley brown that looked nothing like puke, yet somehow felt like it should. The only light in the room was coming from the red, the red that was everything yet succumbing to nothingness as it continued to deepen into deeper shades of brown and edging ever closer to black. Realising there was little light left, the panic got worse, but I was distanced from it, oddly calm in my head but panicked in my body and heart, aware that I was trying to get out of the invisible bonds holding me to the chair I was stuck on, yet detached, trying to think of a way out.

Maybe the colour will circle around and come back to light the room again.

No, that would be too easy.

Maybe the panic will subside and I’ll pass out again, only to wake up to another colour washing the room only to leave me in darkness and begin the cycle again.

That would be too predictable.

Why did I think ‘again?’ I hadn’t been through that before the red…had I? Nothing made sense as I grew accustomed to the dark, stopped fighting with the chair, and the panic began to subside. Why was being in pitch black with my eyes playing tricks on me somehow better than having light and change? There was no way to mark time as it passed in the dark. Was time even passing at all? There was truly no way to know. I guess I must have slept some, stuck in the mental cycle of trying to find a way to escape my chair and the room then falling into despair, then back 'round to hope.

Waking up once again, though this time to the same pitch black room I had fallen asleep in, I noticed a noise that hadn’t been there before. A faint, electric hum echoing through the room. I truly had no idea what was in the room, the layout of the room, where in the room I even was–the only time I’d seen it was in the chaos and panic of the red light however many hours ago that was. So I had no idea if there was something inside the room making the noise or if it was from an external source that was whining its way into my awareness.

The sound came and went as I continued to cycle through the cycle of wake and sleep with no change, no food, drink, or interaction. There was never a return of the red light, and no matter how steadily I tried to track it, I could sense no true pattern in the sound’s existence or quiet. With no way to track time passing and the ever growing worry that the light had been some kind of warning that had made whoever had put me there evacuate and they fully just left me there on my own in some crisis, my very baseline of functionality became more and more panicked. Nothing I did, no screaming, questioning, pleading, silence, or physical movement made any kind of change–the air was the same temperature, I didn’t get hungry or thirsty, the only thing I felt was tired, angry, confused, and panicked.

Coming around for the gods only know what number time, things were once again different. Instead of pitch black, there was a greyish light that didn’t seem to be coming from much of anywhere. It was just there, hanging in the air, giving an ever so slightly lighter sheen to my surroundings. Taking advantage of this new light, I took in my surroundings for the first time. There were chairs, tables, even what looked like it might have been a bed frame at one time. All in all, a relatively normal large bedroom turned studio apartment. I had been stuck on a chair in the middle of a large open space by where a door to the outside or another room theoricically should have been, the chair obviously having been taken from the table and chair set closest to me. Having fully taken in the room and begun to try and understand where I’d ended up, I noted there was no kitchen. Not even a suggestion of a kitchen such as a microwave or counter or sink, just the open space where I was. It was oddly disconcerting to be in a place that seemed like a normal apartment yet was missing so much of what makes an apartment functional as a place to live.

It was clear that even if this had been a useful place to live at one point, it was not so anymore. Still I could see no sign of a door, window, or lights–no source for the grey light making all these observations even possible for me was still yet to be found. I still could not see how I was bound to the chair, but even with sight of where I was there was no hope of figuring out how to get out of the bonds. I even tried the cartoonish move of picking the chair up with me and hobbling around but the chair was very much so stuck to the floor by one way or another. I could move well enough that I was pretty sure it wasn’t screwed or nailed in, but other than that, what could it have been?

When I had thoroughly examined all I could with my own eyes from my vantage point, I once again began the cycle of awake and stress and sleep and timelessness. For the third time, I woke up after a mysterious amount of time since the grey light showed up to a new source of light. This time it was a greyish brown color, and darker than the grey that had been there before. It felt like whomever had me there was playing some sort of sick game, but I didn’t know what the goal was. Or what the moves were. So I was lost. The new light offered even fewer revelations than the grey, which had basically just reminded me that tables and beds exist after gods know how long in that room. The one thing the brown light did do was give more shadow and depth to everything. Which sounds like it might be helpful, but truly it just added another layer of mysterious hell. Now the distances I had had mapped out in my head looked totally wrong and I couldn’t rationalize it.

As time went on, there were more sleeps, more color changes, each just as nonhelpful to my situation as the last. The baseline panic remained, as did I. In a constant state of stress and fear but also peace and ease, coexisting in a very odd tandem of emotion.

“Come on Molly! We’re going to be late!” I yelled, heading for the car.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Molly yelled back, walking toward the house door. She was always late. For everything. We were headed to a friend’s birthday party, but of course we’d forgotten to find presents until the last minute, making us run even later than usual.

I turned on the car and turned on the heat while waiting for Molly. It was -5℉, and since we’d both just moved to the north, neither of us had proper clothing for the extreme cold. Molly finally got in the car and as soon as she was buckled in, I drove off in the direction of our friend’s house. Molly turned on some music as I drove, and we both sat in silence. Who knows what she was thinking, but I was thinking about the hectic months that brought us close, and how nice it was that things were finally settling down. We first met on the first day of college. We were both comparative religion majors, and started our freshman year off with a class on ancient mythologies. I’d always loved reading the Greek and Roman myths and was excited to learn more about them. Molly knew a lot about ancient Egyption myths, but not so much the Greek ones. We ended up working together a lot because between the two of us, we had most of the topics we were learning about covered. After the first semester ended, my dorm-mate moved off campus, and Molly requested to move in with me. We did, and had a great rest of freshman year. The next year, we lived together again, but we didn't in our junior year. Her mom was teaching at the school and insisted Molly live with her. Needless to say, Molly wasn’t too pleased about that, but she put up with it anyway. Senior year Molly and I lived together again, and our friendship grew deeper. At the end of the year I got a full time job close to the college, and so did Molly. Eventually we both got permanent jobs in this town--a small town in Vermont. The end of senior year was very high energy, with everyone rushing to get things done before the end of the school year. Then, we were all trying to find full time jobs and places to live, so it’s felt like forever since we’ve been able to sit down and just have a cup of coffee and chat. The town we’re living in now is a nice little lazy town with lots of religious old ladies and some very superstitious middle aged people. There are some kids, but they mostly keep to themselves. Although Molly and I have only been here a few months, we made friends quickly, and everyone’s been super nice. The job isn’t super interesting, but we get paid well and we’re renting a proper house, so everything’s okay.

Snapping back to reality, I realised I was lost. I must have missed a few turns somewhere, because I had no idea where we were. I looked over to Molly to see why she didn’t let me know we weren’t going the right way, but she’d fallen asleep at some point, presumably before I missed a turn. Reaching over, I shook her arm, hoping to wake her up before she ruined her makeup and so she could help me figure out where we were. She didn’t wake up.

“Molly! Wake up!” She still wouldn't wake up. She’s a really deep sleeper, and does not take kindly to being woken up from a nap, so I was hesitant to really wake her up, but I did anyway. Looking around to make sure no one was near, I jerked the car in a zig zag until Molly had been thrown around so much she finally woke up.

Blinking groggily, Molly said, “Where are we? Did you get lost again?”

“I did. Sorry I woke you up, but I really don’t want to be even later to the party than we already are.”

Still wiping sleep from her eyes and yawning like crazy, she fished around in her purse to find her phone. I glanced over to her as she was opening the maps app, and it showed us in an area I’d never seen before. Molly zoomed way out, trying to figure out where we were, but it just showed green. No matter how far she zoomed out it was just green. It never went to continents or the globe, just one giant mass of green. It was pretty fitting, considering we were driving on a road with trees all around and nothing else to see. The road was curvy but flat, so we just kept driving. And driving. And driving. And driving. And driving. And driving.

At some point I realised that though Molly’s phone was working, the time on the car clock and the clock on her phone had both stopped moving. I didn’t point this out, cause I knew it would really freak Molly out. I kept driving, but at this point it was automatic. In my head I was trying to figure out what in the world was happening. Nothing made any sense. Molly was still trying to get her map to work. All of a sudden, she screamed. I jerked the car and almost ran off the road, which had narrowed into a 1.5 lane road at some point, into a tree.

“WHY DID YOU SCREAM????? WE’RE IN A CAR, ON A NARROW ROAD, LOST IN A FOREST WE DIDN’T KNOW EXISTED. WHY DID YOU THINK IT WOULD BE A GOOD IDEA TO SCREAM??” I looked over and realised she had her hand over her mouth, and was very clearly trying not to spiral into a panic attack. She held up her phone for me to see. She was so zoomed out, the dot to signify where we were was miniscule, and yet there was still green absolutely everywhere. I couldn't figure out why she had screamed until I saw that the compass was spinning around listlessly as if it were a real compass that was very confused.

I sighed, and said, “Look at the clocks. It looks like we’re in some kind of no man’s land with cell signal but no poles or passage of time.”

Still calming down and visibly trying not to freak out, Molly said, “So what do we do?”

“I have no idea. I get the feeling we should keep driving, but other than that? No idea.”

For some reason this seemed to help Molly calm down. She put her phone away, closed her eyes, and breathed long, slow, and deep for what felt like a long time. After what felt like an eternity of driving on ever repeating turns while Molly thought, she finally opened her eyes and began to talk.

“We know we aren’t anywhere near home, but we don’t know where we are. We have no idea how to leave this god forsaken forest, and we have no way to figure out how to leave. Someone must have brought us here, one way or another. That’s the only way for us to have gotten here, since neither of us purposefully got us here.” Molly stops to think for a second, and that second feels like another eternity. “What were you doing when I fell asleep?” Molly finally asks.

“I was driving...I wasn’t fully paying attention though. I was thinking about the past, but I wasn't asleep or anything.”

“But--you weren’t fully conscious of the current world, correct?”

“That is correct.”

“So if we had gotten pulled or taken...somewhere else, neither of us would have noticed.” The road, which had been paved until now, changed to dirt.

“I get the feeling the road symbolizes how much time we have left to do something or figure something out, but I don’t know why. Should we stop the car or keep going?”

“I have the same feeling about the road. Why not try stopping the car.”

I stopped the car, but it immediately started up again and started driving itself around. “Well that’s handy, now, isn’t it? Now I don’t have to drive.”

Molly glanced over and saw my smirk, letting her know I was being sarcastic--my automatic defense against the world. “Which means someone really wants you to do something,” Molly said, looking back to the road and knotting her hands together in her lap.

“That’s really not good.” The road got even narrower, and we could hear tree branches scraping all along the sides of the car. Both of us automatically cringed away from the outer car walls and the noise, leaning toward each other.

After yet another eternity, with the car supposedly driving itself, we ended up on a really long straight stretch of road. We could see what looked like a sharp turn in the road up ahead, but no road went to any side. “Oh my gosh--we’ve reached the end of the road!!” I say, sitting up a bit straighter to see the road better.

“Have we?” Molly replies. She’d been staring down towards the floor, but at this she also sits up straight. “So we have. Now what? Something else has got to happen. There’s no way this is it--we won’t be able to just turn around and leave I’m sure of it.”

“Where the road ends is the only clearing seen this whole time, so I’m sure something will happen when we get there…”

“Come to think of it Molly, in case something horrible happens and we can’t get out of this horrible forest for some reason, we should probably let our friends know what’s happened, or just that we are really lost and a bit scared.”

Happy for anything to do, Molly reached back into her purse and pulled out her phone again. Somehow, she still had signal. She sent a quick text to her parents, and the group thread with our friends on it. “You should send your parents something too,” Molly said after dropping her phone back in her purse.

“You’re right. What’d you tell your parents?”

“I told our friends and my parents the same thing--you can just copy it from the group thread and paste it to your parents if you want to.”

I did that, and waited to make sure the messages delivered before putting my phone down again. The car had slowed to a crawl, and we weren’t getting much closer to the end of the road and the clearing. I figured it was better to go on and get whatever would happen over with, even if the car, Molly, and I were all scared, so I took over manual control of the car again and pulled it back to normal speed. The clearing was growing closer and closer, and the closer we got the more intense the feeling of dread and fear got. When we got about 50 feet away, I got too shaky to drive the car, so I let go and let it drive itself again. The car chose to slow to a crawl again, making the apprehension those last 50 feet was absolutely horrible, but I physically could not drive, so it was the best option we had.

At long last we reached the end of the road. The car turned itself off, and locked the doors and windows, which I didn’t know was even possible. We sat in a terrified anxious mess for a long time, and then out of nowhere popped several...creatures. That was the only word that could suit such beings.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!” we both screamed. Glancing toward each other whilst also keeping an eye on the creatures, we could both easily see the looks of absolute and pure terror on the other’s face.

“What are they?!” Molly asked.

“I have absolutely no idea,” I responded. The creatures were definitely woman shaped, with immense beauty, but there was something else to them that made them inhuman--something that made me instinctively call them creatures. Though they were all different, there was a general sameness to them in their movements, gestures, and expressions that was quite eerie for some reason. There was something nagging at my memory--something I couldn’t quite remember that I felt could describe these...people, but I could not drag up the memory.

I figured out what was so weird about the way they moved--it looked like they were gliding across a slick surface, not walking across rough forest ground. They had to be magic of some kind, but that didn’t make sense. Again, that just out of reach memory tug. It had to be something from a myth come alive somehow...it would make no sense otherwise. But which myth? Which species? How were they to be defeated? Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t realise how close the creatures had...glided...until I heard Molly scream and was jolted back into the present. Looking to the passenger seat, the creature nearest the car had punched through the window and was reaching in to pull Molly out of the car through the window. I yelled, unbuckled, and tried to pull her back in, but it was too late. The creature was stronger than me and had the advantage of having already pulled Molly most of the way out of the broken window. There was blood streaming down her legs and arms from the broken glass, and she was sobbing hysterically, trying to wrest herself from the creature’s grip. But it’s grip was one of iron, and Molly could not break free, no matter how hard she tried.

Looking around, I tried to gather as much information as I could to defeat them and hopefully save Molly’s life. I knew they were not human. I knew they were extremely beautiful. Glancing over in the direction Molly had been dragged, I quickly found out that one, Molly could not be saved no matter how fast I thought, and two, these creatures drank blood with a greed and feasted upon human flesh with a vigor. Wincing away from that sight and fighting the urge to vomit, I looked back to where the others were. Some had gone to...eat...but many were still slowly advancing on myself and the car. There had to be some way to defeat them. There was always a word or phrase or thing that would-at least temporarily-debilitize creatures like this, but what was it for these ones??

I climbed into the trunk of the car, hoping it could buy me some time, even if it was just seconds. Cowering in the fetal position, I ran a full mental scan of all of my mythological knowledge. Why could I not find the one piece of information I needed?! Starting to panic as the creatures got closer, I thought of vampires and the origins of vampires--there had to be something related to blood drinking, flesh devouring in Greek or Roman myths...unless it was an Egyptian creature, or a Norse creature, or a Celtic creature or a-

Panicking once again, I forced myself to not think of anything--to go into a meditative state and wait for the answer to come to me. I climbed into the backseat of my car insead of the trunk because the windows are smaller, and laid down, forcing myself to let go of the stress and let the answer come to me. Unsurprisingly, it was impossible to fully meditate, what with my life about to end in a very gruesome way and all, but I did the best I could. Suddenly, I remembered what they were called.

“EMPOUSAI!!!!!!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. Suddenly, I remembered everything about them. If I looked at them and their beauty much longer, I knew I would be incapable of fighting back. There was only one way to defeat them, and that way required looking at them. Thinking frantically, I realised I had to get to a place where they could hear me to defeat them. That meant getting to a place where they could take me and eat me. Which meant I would be dead. I crawled into the front seat, but sat on the console in between the two seats, hoping this could make it harder for the Empousai to reach me. By now they were at the front of the car, and I knew I had to defeat them now if I wanted any chance of survival.

“You’re ugly. You over there,” I pointed to the one on my left, “have a crooked nose and it distorts your whole face.” She wailed, put her hands up to her nose, and shriveled up into a contorted version of the human figure, and fell to the ground. There were still five more to defeat. Pointing to the one on my right, the closest one, I said, “And your teeth are just slightly askew. It would be so much better if they were all horrible or all perfect, but yours are in between and it just looks awkward.” The same thing happened to her as happened to the other Empousa. Feeling slightly more confident, I insulted the next two closest at the same time. “Are you two twins? ‘Cause if you are, you’re the worst pair I’ve ever seen. I can smell your horrid breath from here, and you aren’t walking straight up and down because your back is tilted. You two don’t look anything alike, and I can’t blame you.” The two, who were obviously not related in any way apparently took greater offence at the twin comment, because they were already shriveled by the time I was finished insulting them. Finally, there was only one Empousa left. I glanced over to the edge of the clearing. I shuddered. The others were still eating, but the one still intent on me seemed to be a leader. I got out of the car so I could have more room to run.

I wanted answers--how in the world did they actually exist?! And the only way for me to get any answers was to talk to one of them. Lucky me the leader decided she wanted to eat me. Backing away slowly from the car and the Empousa, I threw out some general insults--enough to make her cringe away but not shrivel her. In between insults, I threw out some questions, but the Empousa just snarled and laughed. Realising I would get no answers from her I threw out more harsh insults, eventually shriveling her. The other Empousai had finished eating Molly, and were digging a shallow pit to throw the bones into. Why they bothered, I have no idea, but they did nevertheless. After licking the blood from each other’s faces and burying Molly’s bones, they turned to me. I began backing up again, but immediately hit a tree. I could see why they chose this place to prey. There were only so many places to run or hide, and most people wouldn’t have any clue how to defeat them. Hurling some more insults at the whole group of Empousai, I saw many of the weak one shrivel, but there were still quite a few of them. Mentally exhausted, I just wanted a cup of coffee--maybe four--and later some sleep. Maybe the other way around--it didn’t really matter all that much.

Then, a spirit rose from the shallow grave. Molly’s spirit. Her ghost. As if this day wasn’t weird enough, my best friend was now a freaking ghost. A ghost!! Technically it was probably a Lemure, a Roman ghost, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that I was also about to be a ghost. The Empousai didn’t seem to be able to see Molly’s ghost for some reason, so she would float among them, using her ghostly powers to read their minds or something. I don’t know how she did it, but she was able to figure out the answers to my questions and tell them to me by simply smiling. After imparting these important pieces of information, she faded away and left me alone with the Empousai. Again. Included with the information was a mental forgiveness from Molly to me for letting her die. She knew there was no way I could have saved her, and was glad I was able to save myself so far.

Through the mental information package from Molly, I was able to learn that the Empousai have always been real, but started hiding away in hidden forests created by Hecate when people stopped believing in their myths. They’ve slipped travelers into their forests in moments when all travelers in the party are not fully in their current, real world--asleep, daydreaming, reminiscing, that sort of thing. Then they come into the forest and what happened - was happening - to us happens to the travellers. As I was parsing through all this history and information, I was still managing to throw some insults and the Empousai, and though a few more had shriveled, there were still a lot that were coming to eat me. Continuing to mentally read about them, I learned that though they used to just seduce and eat young men, they had recently (in the last 100 years or so) gotten desperate enough to take almost anyone that happened along one of their roads. They still only took young people, but didn’t care about gender anymore. Glancing up at them again and thinking about what they’d done over the last few thousand years, I realised what they truly were.

“You’re all cowards. You’ve hidden yourselves from the world since man decided they didn’t like you, and that is a cowardly thing to do. You were scared of the people, instead of embracing the changing times and figuring out how to live in the new world that had been created. You wait around and hope that someone of the right age will happen along your path so you can eat them, and that’s the coward’s game. Not finding your victims outright on your own but waiting for them to come to you. That. Is. A. Coward’s. Move.” By the end of my short impromptu monologue, all of the Empousai were shriveled, and Molly--or rather her Leumre--had reappeared and was silently applauding me. It was so strange to see applause but not hear it.

In my head I could feel her approval of my method of defeating them, and her sense of urgency about leaving the hidden forest. She said she would be always with me, but that I probably would not be able to see her outside of the forest. Though I was obviously distraught that she was dead, I had not gotten to the realization of that yet--I was still very much in fight or flight mode, so I thanked her, got in the car, and left the clearing as fast as I could. Because I had a destination in mind, the drive out of the forest seemed a smaller eternity than the one driving in. When I had been driving for so long my mind started to drift and I had calmed out of fight or flight mode, I started going through the events that had just happened, and I was starting to realise that my friend was actually dead, I snapped to and realised I was back in my lazy town. I drove home, slept, drank coffee, watched TV, and basically did everything I could to ignore the grief that was creeping into my soul.

It wasn’t until I heard Molly’s voice in my head again, a week later when I was finally rested and sober enough to think straight that I finally caved. It was strange to have the person that I was grieving comforting me through the grief process, but definitely a welcome help. She was right--I can’t see her in the real world, but I can hear her and sort of tell when she’s around, so that’s nice. I haven’t worked in weeks, and I haven’t even left the house, but I think I’m close to being ready to re-enter society. I have no idea what I’ll tell Molly’s parents about how she died, but I’m sure she’ll help me figure it out when we get to that point. Lemeures have always been thought to be evil spirits, but really what I’ve discovered is that it just depends on the burial of the person. There are perfectly good people that are buried in totally improper ways, like Molly, as well as bad people improperly buried. Same goes for properly buried people. It’s nice to still have my friend, even if she’s in a bit of a different state than she once was.

For Sly

But then you see you see your mom crying,
And grandmother,
And your dad,
And everyone else that’s there,
Because you all know
That he’s going to die soon,
And that there’s nothing anyone can do about it,
And in that moment,
You realize he’s always been there,
For you and for others.

With his witty sense of humor,
His bright smiles,
His laughter,
His sense of style and proper dressing,
And the love he always emoted
Onto everyone he met.

And the next few days are a blur,
And the next thing you know,
You’re at the funeral home with your family,
And he’s just ashes,
And you go down the steps,
To go sprinkle some dirt on his final resting place,
And you still can’t stop crying,
And you still can’t stop crying,
And you know he will be in your heart always,
And that you’ll never let him go,
And that you’ll probably cry again-
Whenever you think about him,
But you know he has no pain,
And that he’s safe forever now,
And that he will watch over and protect you forever now.

And then he’s buried.