Old navy cape girardeau
On this day in History, June 1.
2023.06.01 12:58 Tigrannes On this day in History, June 1.
 | TODAY IN HISTORY June 1 submitted by Tigrannes to Historycord [link] [comments] Middle Ages 1215 – Zhongdu (now Beijing), then under the control of the Jurchen ruler Emperor Xuanzong of Jin, is captured by the Mongols under Genghis Khan, ending the Battle of Zhongdu. 1252 – Alfonso X is proclaimed king of Castile and León. 1298 – Residents of Riga and Grand Duchy of Lithuania defeated the Livonian Order in the Battle of Turaida.Early Modern World 1495 – A monk, John Cor, records the first known batch of Scotch whisky. 1533 – Anne Boleyn is crowned Queen of England. 1535 – Combined forces loyal to Charles V attack and expel the Ottomans from Tunis during the Conquest of Tunis. 1648 – The Roundheads defeat the Cavaliers at the Battle of Maidstone in the Second English Civil War. 1649 – Start of the Sumuroy Revolt: Filipinos in Northern Samar led by Agustin Sumuroy revolt against Spanish colonial authorities. 1670 – In Dover, England, Charles II of England and Louis XIV of France sign the Secret Treaty of Dover, which will force England into the Third Anglo-Dutch War. 1676 – Battle of Öland: allied Danish-Dutch forces defeat the Swedish navy in the Baltic Sea, during the Scanian War (1675–79). 1679 – The Scottish Covenanters defeat John Graham of Claverhouse at the Battle of Drumclog. 1773 – Wolraad Woltemade rescues 14 sailors at the Cape of Good Hope from the sinking ship De Jonge Thomas by riding his horse into the sea seven times. Both he and his horse, Vonk, drowned on his eighth attempt.Revolutionary Age 1779 – The court-martial for malfeasance of Benedict Arnold, a general in the Continental Army during the American Revolutionary War, begins. 1792 – Kentucky is admitted as the 15th state of the United States. 1794 – The battle of the Glorious First of June is fought, the first naval engagement between Britain and France during the French Revolutionary Wars. 1796 – Tennessee is admitted as the 16th state of the United States. 1812 – War of 1812: U.S. President James Madison asks the Congress to declare war on the United Kingdom. 1813 – Capture of USS Chesapeake. 1815 – Napoleon promulgates a revised Constitution after it passes a plebiscite. 1831 – James Clark Ross becomes the first European at the North Magnetic Pole. 1849 – Territorial Governor Alexander Ramsey declared the Territory of Minnesota officially established. 1854 – Åland War: The British navy destroys merchant ships and about 16,000 tar barrels of the wholesale stocks area in Oulu, Grand Duchy of Finland. 1855 – The American adventurer William Walker conquers Nicaragua. 1857 – Charles Baudelaire's Les Fleurs du mal is published. 1857 – The Revolution of the Ganhadores begins in Salvador, Bahia, Brazil. 1861 – American Civil War: The Battle of Fairfax Court House is fought. 1862 – American Civil War: Peninsula Campaign: The Battle of Seven Pines (or the Battle of Fair Oaks) ends inconclusively, with both sides claiming victory. 1868 – The Treaty of Bosque Redondo is signed, allowing the Navajo to return to their lands in Arizona and New Mexico.Second Industrial Revolution 1879 – Napoléon Eugène, the last dynastic Bonaparte, is killed in the Anglo-Zulu War. 1890 – The United States Census Bureau begins using Herman Hollerith's tabulating machine to count census returns.World War I 1916 – Louis Brandeis becomes the first Jew appointed to the United States Supreme Court. 1918 – World War I: Western Front: Battle of Belleau Wood: Allied Forces under John J. Pershing and James Harbord engage Imperial German Forces under Wilhelm, German Crown Prince.Interwar Period 1919 – Prohibition comes into force in Finland. 1922 – The Royal Ulster Constabulary is founded. 1929 – The 1st Conference of the Communist Parties of Latin America is held in Buenos Aires. 1930 – The Deccan Queen is introduced as first intercity train between Bombay VT (Now Mumbai CST) and Poona (Pune) to run on electric locomotives. 1939 – First flight of the German Focke-Wulf Fw 190 fighter aircraft.World War II 1941 – World War II: The Battle of Crete ends as Crete capitulates to Germany. 1941 – The Farhud, a massive pogrom in Iraq, starts and as a result, many Iraqi Jews are forced to leave their homes. 1943 – BOAC Flight 777 is shot down over the Bay of Biscay by German Junkers Ju 88s, killing British actor Leslie Howard and leading to speculation that it was actually an attempt to kill British Prime Minister Winston Churchill.Cold War 1946 – Ion Antonescu, "Conducator" ("Leader") of Romania during World War II, is executed. 1950 – The Declaration of Conscience speech, by U.S. Senator from Maine, Margaret Chase Smith, is delivered in response to Joseph R. McCarthy's speech at Wheeling, West Virginia. 1950 – The Chinchaga fire ignites. By September, it would become the largest single fire on record in North America. 1958 – Charles de Gaulle comes out of retirement to lead France by decree for six months. 1961 – The Canadian Bank of Commerce and Imperial Bank of Canada merge to form the Canadian Imperial Bank of Commerce, the largest bank merger in Canadian history. 1964 – Kenya becomes a republic with Jomo Kenyatta as its first President. 1974 – The Heimlich maneuver for rescuing choking victims is published in the journal Emergency Medicine. 1975 – The Patriotic Union of Kurdistan was founded by Jalal Talabani, Nawshirwan Mustafa, Fuad Masum and others. 1978 – The first international applications under the Patent Cooperation Treaty are filed. 1979 – The first black-led government of Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe) in 90 years takes power. 1980 – Cable News Network (CNN) begins broadcasting. 1988 – European Central Bank is founded in Brussels. 1988 – The Intermediate-Range Nuclear Forces Treaty comes into effect. 1990 – Cold War: George H. W. Bush and Mikhail Gorbachev sign a treaty to end chemical weapon production. Modern World1993 – Dobrinja mortar attack: Thirteen are killed and 133 wounded when Serb mortar shells are fired at a soccer game in Dobrinja, west of Sarajevo. 1994 – Republic of South Africa becomes a republic in the Commonwealth of Nations. 2001 – Nepalese royal massacre: Crown Prince Dipendra of Nepal shoots and kills several members of his family including his father and mother. 2001 – Dolphinarium discotheque massacre: A Hamas suicide bomber kills 21 at a disco in Tel Aviv. 2004 – Oklahoma City bombing co-conspirator Terry Nichols is sentenced to 161 consecutive life terms without the possibility of parole. 2009 – Air France Flight 447 crashes into the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Brazil on a flight from Rio de Janeiro to Paris. All 228 passengers and crew are killed. 2009 – General Motors files for Chapter 11 bankruptcy. It is the fourth largest United States bankruptcy in history. 2011 – A rare tornado outbreak occurs in New England; a strong EF3 tornado strikes Springfield, Massachusetts, during the event, killing four people. 2011 – Space Shuttle Endeavour makes its final landing after 25 flights. 2015 – A ship carrying 458 people capsizes in the Yangtze river in China's Hubei province, killing 400 people.Featured 1812: The U.S. President James Madison asks Congress to declare war on the United Kingdom, starting the War of 1812. The decision to go to war is one of the most serious an American president faces. On June 1, 1812, President Madison sent a letter—later dubbed his war message—to both houses of Congress. In it, he listed a series of transgressions Great Britain had committed against the U.S. He also explained his decision not to recommend war with France at that time. |
2023.06.01 12:00 AutoModerator Thursday Free Talk and Simple Questions
Happy Thursday! Use this thread as a way to ask a simple question, share an article, or just engage with the NB community! Remember, WAYWT posts go in the WAYWT thread.
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2023.06.01 11:07 grapeormelon St. Deborah By the Bay ~Answered w/ Guide
Answer: Tyler burns the hospital killing Dr. Deborah confirmed by THE Patrick Somerville via twitter late one night when I saw he was active so I asked him 🔥 🥹
Few things to remember,
Kirsten’s story is told forwards, Tyler’s backwards. They’re literally identical in nature and structure, childhood trauma, exposure to a tool/weapon, same cast. The differences are timing of exposure, support/guidance throughout, and where the adults were in their process when interacting with them. Tyler knew them before the book. Kristen after it was printed.
The physical tools both of them come in contact with are the book, a compass, zippo/lighter, and the hunting knife.
Here it is and it’s beautiful,
E2 “A Hawk from a Handsaw”
The symphony is riding through St. Deborah by the Bay when Sarah jokes they should make her a saint, like St. Deborah.
Kirsten replies, “well, you didn’t die in a chemical fire.” We see a statue of Dr. Deborah holding an infant.
The first time we hear the sound of a zippo opening and closing ominously is at the end of E2 when Kirsten is stalking him like a Hawk.
Episode 3 “Hurricane”
Miranda’s response to stress/trauma is to cut and run. Burn it all down, like the first draft of the book. By the pool Miranda and Clark are having two different conversations, she asked about the affair, he rants about his own issues with Arthur never really answering her question.
Later when Miranda is packing her things, shes having different conversation than Arthur. She informs him the pool house is on fire, leaves in an oversized navy blue zip up hoody over her blue dinner dress.
Episode 4 “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern aren’t dead”
The episode opens with Miranda, Tyler and Kirsten (young and old) reciting the book while we’re watching a montage. Miranda begins, Tyler says “then escape”, young tyler starts “then adrift”, then we see him walking down an aisle at the birthing center, he’s wearing an oversized navy rain coat over the navy/yellow puffy coat and a large army green backpack.
“I remember damage. Then escape. Then adrift in a stranger's galaxy for a long, long time. But I'm safe now. I found it again. My home.”
Kirsten delivers the last line solo.
Episode 5 “Severn City Airport” (lying to kids like this is actually pretty bad lol) Finally we get Tyler’s story! There’s lots of blue and yellow and elevens at the airport.
Bunch of bullshit happens at the airport, the Gitcheegumee survivor is shot, Tyler and Elizabeth are quarantined where he consumes Station 11 without any guidance about the shooting or the book or anything really. (lol please don’t do this to kids, it bad.) When he leaves he identifies with the undersea kids, then steals the zippo from Clark after Clark was a burrito supreme duck head to all the kids grieving earlier, Tyler hears Clark’s radio confession, uses the book to set fire to the Gitcheegumee faking his death. He leaves the airport flicking the zippo in a yellow and navy reversible puffy coat, dark youth backpack.
Episode 6 “Survival is Insufficient”
We find out Kirsten and baby Alex were picked up by the symphony at the same time when we see Kirsten lose baby Alex at Pingtree. Undersea Kids blow up Pingtree looking for Tyler.
Episode 7 and 8 Tyler tells Kirsten about Miranda and his fathers romantic history, not his mothers, he’s stuck there, just like Arthur was, and Elizabeth. Tyler enacts his plan to blow up the museum of history, mispronouncing gyroscope during the audition for Clark.
In Episode 9 “Dr. Chaudhary”
We meet Rose, and eventually Baby Alex-ander The Great. Rose dies in childbirth. When Tyler comes back for her Dr. Deborah is kind of dismissive, Tyler asks if he leaves the baby there will it die too? Dr. Deborah tells him the baby would die out there with him. They’re having different conversations, Jeevan notices but doesn’t get involved.
Then!!! E10 “Unbroken Circle”
It’s the morning after Tyler blew up the museum, the traveling Symphony clears quarantine, they’re walking through the airport for the first time when Kirsten asks the nun what happened the night before, the Nun responds “electrical fire”, there’s a brief pause where Kirsten just looks at her because she knows that isn’t the whole story.
During that one few second stare the song playing in the background is singing “it’s just small town talk, don’t believe a word.”, yadda yadda
Subtitles on is a fun rewatch if you haven’t already.
We later learn Miranda’s family was killed around her when a live wire came into their flooded home.
The last thing she does before she dies of the flu is save Tyler, Elizabeth, and Clark at the airport.
tldr; Tyler came back to the birthing center for baby Alex or revenge 🤷♂️, either way he saw “the before” in Dr. Deborah’s actions/words and burned the birthing center.
Also, the traveling symphony echos Miranda’s pattern. Sarah never leaves the wheel.
A few weeks before King Lear Arthur reconciles with Clark (who basically fueled their breakup), then he called Miranda to do the same and apologize. Miranda woke up the next morning, finished the book, printed it, and flew to Chicago to tell Arthur.
Kirsten manipulates Sarah into leaving the wheel so she can get the book from Pingtree, forcing her to confront then reconcile with Gil, she performs la Campanella reconciling her fathers death, then dies at the airport after the pingtree bombing and Gil’s death.
We’re called the traveling symphony, we travel for a reason, you burn the house down then go!!!
….just trying to make the world make sense for a minute
And, you know, they blame you if you stay, but they love you like you saved them when you come back.
submitted by grapeormelon to StationEleven [link] [comments]
Few things to remember,
Kirsten’s story is told forwards, Tyler’s backwards. They’re literally identical in nature and structure, childhood trauma, exposure to a tool/weapon, same cast. The differences are timing of exposure, support/guidance throughout, and where the adults were in their process when interacting with them. Tyler knew them before the book. Kristen after it was printed.
The physical tools both of them come in contact with are the book, a compass, zippo/lighter, and the hunting knife.
Here it is and it’s beautiful,
E2 “A Hawk from a Handsaw”
The symphony is riding through St. Deborah by the Bay when Sarah jokes they should make her a saint, like St. Deborah.
Kirsten replies, “well, you didn’t die in a chemical fire.” We see a statue of Dr. Deborah holding an infant.
The first time we hear the sound of a zippo opening and closing ominously is at the end of E2 when Kirsten is stalking him like a Hawk.
Episode 3 “Hurricane”
Miranda’s response to stress/trauma is to cut and run. Burn it all down, like the first draft of the book. By the pool Miranda and Clark are having two different conversations, she asked about the affair, he rants about his own issues with Arthur never really answering her question.
Later when Miranda is packing her things, shes having different conversation than Arthur. She informs him the pool house is on fire, leaves in an oversized navy blue zip up hoody over her blue dinner dress.
Episode 4 “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern aren’t dead”
The episode opens with Miranda, Tyler and Kirsten (young and old) reciting the book while we’re watching a montage. Miranda begins, Tyler says “then escape”, young tyler starts “then adrift”, then we see him walking down an aisle at the birthing center, he’s wearing an oversized navy rain coat over the navy/yellow puffy coat and a large army green backpack.
“I remember damage. Then escape. Then adrift in a stranger's galaxy for a long, long time. But I'm safe now. I found it again. My home.”
Kirsten delivers the last line solo.
Episode 5 “Severn City Airport” (lying to kids like this is actually pretty bad lol) Finally we get Tyler’s story! There’s lots of blue and yellow and elevens at the airport.
Bunch of bullshit happens at the airport, the Gitcheegumee survivor is shot, Tyler and Elizabeth are quarantined where he consumes Station 11 without any guidance about the shooting or the book or anything really. (lol please don’t do this to kids, it bad.) When he leaves he identifies with the undersea kids, then steals the zippo from Clark after Clark was a burrito supreme duck head to all the kids grieving earlier, Tyler hears Clark’s radio confession, uses the book to set fire to the Gitcheegumee faking his death. He leaves the airport flicking the zippo in a yellow and navy reversible puffy coat, dark youth backpack.
Episode 6 “Survival is Insufficient”
We find out Kirsten and baby Alex were picked up by the symphony at the same time when we see Kirsten lose baby Alex at Pingtree. Undersea Kids blow up Pingtree looking for Tyler.
Episode 7 and 8 Tyler tells Kirsten about Miranda and his fathers romantic history, not his mothers, he’s stuck there, just like Arthur was, and Elizabeth. Tyler enacts his plan to blow up the museum of history, mispronouncing gyroscope during the audition for Clark.
In Episode 9 “Dr. Chaudhary”
We meet Rose, and eventually Baby Alex-ander The Great. Rose dies in childbirth. When Tyler comes back for her Dr. Deborah is kind of dismissive, Tyler asks if he leaves the baby there will it die too? Dr. Deborah tells him the baby would die out there with him. They’re having different conversations, Jeevan notices but doesn’t get involved.
Then!!! E10 “Unbroken Circle”
It’s the morning after Tyler blew up the museum, the traveling Symphony clears quarantine, they’re walking through the airport for the first time when Kirsten asks the nun what happened the night before, the Nun responds “electrical fire”, there’s a brief pause where Kirsten just looks at her because she knows that isn’t the whole story.
During that one few second stare the song playing in the background is singing “it’s just small town talk, don’t believe a word.”, yadda yadda
Subtitles on is a fun rewatch if you haven’t already.
We later learn Miranda’s family was killed around her when a live wire came into their flooded home.
The last thing she does before she dies of the flu is save Tyler, Elizabeth, and Clark at the airport.
tldr; Tyler came back to the birthing center for baby Alex or revenge 🤷♂️, either way he saw “the before” in Dr. Deborah’s actions/words and burned the birthing center.
Also, the traveling symphony echos Miranda’s pattern. Sarah never leaves the wheel.
A few weeks before King Lear Arthur reconciles with Clark (who basically fueled their breakup), then he called Miranda to do the same and apologize. Miranda woke up the next morning, finished the book, printed it, and flew to Chicago to tell Arthur.
Kirsten manipulates Sarah into leaving the wheel so she can get the book from Pingtree, forcing her to confront then reconcile with Gil, she performs la Campanella reconciling her fathers death, then dies at the airport after the pingtree bombing and Gil’s death.
We’re called the traveling symphony, we travel for a reason, you burn the house down then go!!!
….just trying to make the world make sense for a minute
And, you know, they blame you if you stay, but they love you like you saved them when you come back.
2023.06.01 10:57 kennethhaskin01 Kenneth Haskin
Kenneth Haskin
Cape Girardeau has a new city manager in Kenneth Haskin, a veteran city administrator with experience in economic development and senior level management for local municipalities.
submitted by kennethhaskin01 to u/kennethhaskin01 [link] [comments]
Cape Girardeau has a new city manager in Kenneth Haskin, a veteran city administrator with experience in economic development and senior level management for local municipalities.
2023.06.01 10:56 Infinite_Egg_1869 Were there Xenos in the old Republic military?
The entire question is based towards a certain aspect of the Old Republic, that being the navy. I know the army and sector armies likely had aliens(non humans) in it, but were there Alien Admirals, Captains, etc etc. I don't know much about the old Republic so, please, indulge me!
submitted by Infinite_Egg_1869 to starwarsspeculation [link] [comments]
2023.06.01 09:12 airpigg Predictions
Not a theory with evidence. Just writing down a thought so I can say 'I knew it' if it happens.
Saturn and Kizaru will capture Luffy, probably because he sacrifices for his crew so they can escape. The grand fleet and Sabo own a Vivre card of Luffy. Thats when things start to unwrap, the Revolutionaries will reveal the secret about Imu. The Navy will try a military coup while the grand fleet and the Revolutionaries come for rescue. There'll be a big chaos at Mary Geoise, hence they can sneak to Luffy and free him. Then they all fight their way back out while having to face the marines and the WG. The Navy wins the coup because of the chaos. Imu + Gorosei + Holy Knights have to escape from Mary Geoise and afterwards they plan their comeback. Also I can't imagine how Blackbeard is a D. but still such a badass. Maybe he was a traitor inside the old D. and Imu knows it so they form an alliance with BB pirates and they work together in order to claim the One Piece. This could also connect Shanks talking to the Gorosei about a certain pirate which I believe is BB.
submitted by airpigg to OnePiece [link] [comments]
Saturn and Kizaru will capture Luffy, probably because he sacrifices for his crew so they can escape. The grand fleet and Sabo own a Vivre card of Luffy. Thats when things start to unwrap, the Revolutionaries will reveal the secret about Imu. The Navy will try a military coup while the grand fleet and the Revolutionaries come for rescue. There'll be a big chaos at Mary Geoise, hence they can sneak to Luffy and free him. Then they all fight their way back out while having to face the marines and the WG. The Navy wins the coup because of the chaos. Imu + Gorosei + Holy Knights have to escape from Mary Geoise and afterwards they plan their comeback. Also I can't imagine how Blackbeard is a D. but still such a badass. Maybe he was a traitor inside the old D. and Imu knows it so they form an alliance with BB pirates and they work together in order to claim the One Piece. This could also connect Shanks talking to the Gorosei about a certain pirate which I believe is BB.
2023.06.01 09:11 quote_emperor Old Navy Active Petite Size SP Green White Gym Gear Women Athletic Apparel Pant
 | submitted by quote_emperor to gym_apparel_for_women [link] [comments] |
2023.06.01 06:12 FamiliarPrinciple882 Dystopia
 | submitted by FamiliarPrinciple882 to HomeDepot [link] [comments] |
2023.06.01 06:06 Nexis4Jersey Expanding Rail : Hoboken Terminal : Intercity & Regional Rail
Just some ideas for new routes into Hoboken Terminal based off old services into the nearby Communipaw Terminal and former Erie services into Hoboken. My proposal would need the Waterfront connection & Hunter Flyer NEC Interchanges to be expanded along with some abandoned routes to restore. The Amtrak routes out of Hoboken would be modeled after the discount services that run in Europe , instead of going to the main hub you go to a railway station outside the main city at a steep discount. I have a similar reshuffling proposed for GCT which i'll post soon.
New Jersey Transit - Regional Rail
submitted by Nexis4Jersey to transit [link] [comments]
New Jersey Transit - Regional Rail
- Main Line : Hoboken – Secaucus – Paterson – Ridgewood – Ramsey – Suffern
- Bergen County Line : Hoboken – Secaucus – Fair Lawn – Ridgewood – Waldwick
- Port Jervis Line : Hoboken – Secaucus – Ridgewood – Suffern – Middletown – Port Jervis
- Pascack Valley Line: Hoboken – Secaucus – Hackensack – Spring Valley – Suffern
- Morristown Line : Hoboken – Newark Broad – Dover – Hackettstown – Philipsburg
- Montclair-Boonton Line : Hoboken – Newark Broad – MSU – Wayne – Denville – Dover
- Gladstone Branch: Hoboken – Newark Broad – Summit – Far Hills – Gladstone
- North Jersey Coast Line : Hoboken – Newark Penn – Long Branch – Asbury Park – BH
- Lehigh Line : Hoboken – Newark Penn – Raritan – Easton – Bethlehem - Allentown
- Lackawanna line : Hoboken – Newark Broad – Dover - East Stroudsburg – Scranton
- West Shore Line : Hoboken – Teaneck - Tappan – West Haverstraw – Newburgh
- Amtrak Lackawanna Service: Hoboken –Newark – Scranton – Binghamton – Buffalo – 4x daily
- Amtrak Southern Tier Ltd: Chicago – Cleveland – Binghamton – Scranton – Hoboken -1x daily
- Amtrak Erie Ltd : Cleveland – Erie – Binghamton – Port Jervis – Hoboken – 1x daily
- Amtrak Phoebe Snow : Hoboken – Newark – Scranton – Buffalo – Niagara Falls – 1x daily
- Amtrak Queen of the Valley: Harrisburg – Reading – Allentown – Newark – Hoboken – 2x
- Amtrak Royal Blue : Hoboken – Newark – Philadelphia – Baltimore – DC – 2x daily
- NJT Crusader Service : Hoboken – Newark Penn – West Trenton – Jenkentown – CC Philly
- NJT Blue Comet : Hoboken – Newark Penn – Red Bank - Lakewood - Cape May
- Stourbridge Line : Hoboken - Port Jervis - Lackawaxen - Hawley - Honesdale - 3x daily
2023.06.01 06:06 Psycuteowl Mom, I despise clothes shopping.
My apologies I am on mobil, its rather late so Im in bed no glasses on.
Moms I despise clothes shopping. I am on the bigger side. My body shape is weird. I do not look my weight. I get told I look smaller than what I should look. My legs are nice I would say.
Thighs are a bit thick though. Its my stomach that really gets me. It sticks out then folds over my pelvic area. I hope that makes sense. I have a endention going around it where my pants end up resting. Its not created from my bottoms it just happened.
I can never find anything that actually fits right. If I fond something I like and ots evem alightly form fitting I get told it needs to be bigger or I wont be comfortable. So pretty much all my shirts are a lot bigger than they need to be. I may be able to wear a 3x or a 4x...but I end up buying a 5x to 6x. Because the 3 or 4 is a little and I mean very little form fitting.
Today I had orientation for my new job. I got a 4x shirt as I was unsure if I wanted the 3x just because it felt a little tighter. It was still comfortable but I knew I had to work in it. So I got the bigger size to be safe. Which i feel a bit unsure with. But I cant go back. And the 4x was only ever so slightly bigger. And just more comfortable to me.
But pants/bottoms are the biggest pain. Shirts I know I can eventually find something. Pants/bottoms however.....it takes forever. The best fitting stuff I havr found are jeggings. Or pull on jeans. Or just plain leggings.
But Mom, these are not allowed at my new job. At all. I can only wear Jeans, Black/Khaki slacks, shorts/skirts that do not go more than 2 ins above the knee. No sweatpants, no jogging shorts, no basketball shorts...I think you understand. So the only things Ive found that fit me even slightly I cant wear to work.
I dont know when I actually start work at the store. But Mom what do I do? I have tried Walmart and there was nothing there I could fit other than Jeggings/Pull on jeans which are just jeggings. My Partner even thought about mens jeans. Which I tried on a variety. But they wouldnt go over my thighs.
He and I had no clue how to even search Mens jeans for something I could wear. And womens regular jeans didnt go as high as I need. I need to get jeans as soon as I possibly can. But I dont have anywhere I can go. Aside from maybe Belk. We also do havr an Old Navy but I dont know if they would even have anything I vould wear.
Please Mom, what do I do? I know I need a size 28w or above at least. I might be able to fit 26w but I doubt it. I apologize for this being long. Im sorry to take up so muvh of your time.
submitted by Psycuteowl to MomForAMinute [link] [comments]
Moms I despise clothes shopping. I am on the bigger side. My body shape is weird. I do not look my weight. I get told I look smaller than what I should look. My legs are nice I would say.
Thighs are a bit thick though. Its my stomach that really gets me. It sticks out then folds over my pelvic area. I hope that makes sense. I have a endention going around it where my pants end up resting. Its not created from my bottoms it just happened.
I can never find anything that actually fits right. If I fond something I like and ots evem alightly form fitting I get told it needs to be bigger or I wont be comfortable. So pretty much all my shirts are a lot bigger than they need to be. I may be able to wear a 3x or a 4x...but I end up buying a 5x to 6x. Because the 3 or 4 is a little and I mean very little form fitting.
Today I had orientation for my new job. I got a 4x shirt as I was unsure if I wanted the 3x just because it felt a little tighter. It was still comfortable but I knew I had to work in it. So I got the bigger size to be safe. Which i feel a bit unsure with. But I cant go back. And the 4x was only ever so slightly bigger. And just more comfortable to me.
But pants/bottoms are the biggest pain. Shirts I know I can eventually find something. Pants/bottoms however.....it takes forever. The best fitting stuff I havr found are jeggings. Or pull on jeans. Or just plain leggings.
But Mom, these are not allowed at my new job. At all. I can only wear Jeans, Black/Khaki slacks, shorts/skirts that do not go more than 2 ins above the knee. No sweatpants, no jogging shorts, no basketball shorts...I think you understand. So the only things Ive found that fit me even slightly I cant wear to work.
I dont know when I actually start work at the store. But Mom what do I do? I have tried Walmart and there was nothing there I could fit other than Jeggings/Pull on jeans which are just jeggings. My Partner even thought about mens jeans. Which I tried on a variety. But they wouldnt go over my thighs.
He and I had no clue how to even search Mens jeans for something I could wear. And womens regular jeans didnt go as high as I need. I need to get jeans as soon as I possibly can. But I dont have anywhere I can go. Aside from maybe Belk. We also do havr an Old Navy but I dont know if they would even have anything I vould wear.
Please Mom, what do I do? I know I need a size 28w or above at least. I might be able to fit 26w but I doubt it. I apologize for this being long. Im sorry to take up so muvh of your time.
2023.06.01 05:40 Guilty_Chemistry9337 Hide Behind the Cypress Tree, pt. 1
There are instincts that you develop when you’re a parent. If you don’t have any children it might be a little hard to understand. If you have a toddler, for example, and they’re in the other room and silent for more than a few seconds, there’s a good chance they’re up to no good. I take that back, most of the time they’re doing nothing, but you still have to check. You feel a compulsion to check. I don’t think it’s a learned skill, I think it’s an actual instinct.
Paleolithic parents who didn’t check on their toddlers every few minutes, just to double check that they weren’t being stalked by smilodons were unlikely to have grandchildren and pass on their genes. You just feel you need to check, like getting goosebumps, a compulsion. I suppose it’s the same reason little kids are always demanding you look at them and what they’re doing.
I think that instinct starts to atrophy as your kids grow. They start learning to do things for themselves, and before you know it, they’re after their own privacy, not your attention. I don’t think it ever goes away though. I expect, decades from now, my own grown kids will visit and bring my grandkids with them. And the second I hear a baby crying in the earliest morning hours, I’ll be alert and ready for anything, sure as any old soldier who hears his name whispered in the dark of night.
I felt that alarm just the other day. First time in years. My boy came home from riding bikes with a couple of his friends. I’m pretty sure they worked out a scam where they asked each of their parents for a different new console for Christmas, and now they spend their weekends traveling between the three houses so they can play on all of them.
We all live in a nice neighborhood. A newer development than the one I grew up in, same town though. It’s the kind of place where kids are always playing in the streets, and the cars all routinely do under 20. My wife and I make sure the kids have helmets and pads, and we’re fine with the boy going out biking with his friends, as long as they stay in the neighborhood.
You know, a lot of people in my generation take some weird sort of pride in how irresponsible we used to be when we were young. I never wore a helmet. Rode to places, without telling any adults, that we never should have ridden to. Me and my friends would make impromptu jumps off of makeshift ramps and try to do stupid tricks, based loosely on stunts we’d seen on TV. Other people my age seem to wax nostalgic for that stuff and pretend it makes them somehow better people. I don’t get it. Sometimes I look back and shudder. We were lucky we escaped with only occasional bruises and road burns. It could have gone so much worse.
My son and his buddies came bustling in the front door at about 2 PM on a Saturday. They did the usual thing of raiding the kitchen for juice and his mother’s brownies, and I took that as my cue to abandon the television in the living room for my office. I was hardly noticing the chaos, by this point, it was becoming a regular weekend occurrence. But as I was just leaving, I caught something in the chatter. My boy said something about, “... that guy who was following us.”
He hadn’t said it any louder or more clearly than anything else they’d been talking about, all that stuff I’d been filtering out. Yet some deeper core process in my brain stem heard it, interpreted it, then hit the red alert button. My blood ran cold and every hair on my skin stood at attention.
I turned around and asked “Somebody followed you? What are you talking about?” I wasn’t consciously aware of how strict and stern my voice came out, yet when the jovial smiles dropped off of their faces it was apparent that it had been so.
“Huh?” my son said, his voice high-pitched and talking fast, like when he thinks he’s in trouble and needs to explain. “We thought we saw somebody following us. There wasn’t though. We didn’t really see anybody and we’d just spooked ourselves.”
“What did he look like?” I asked.
“Nothing? We really didn’t see anybody! Honest! I just saw something out of the corner of my eye! But there wasn’t really nobody there!”
“Yeah!,” said one of his buds. “Peripheral! Peripheral vision! I thought maybe I saw something too, but when I looked I didn’t see anything. I don’t have my glasses with me, but when I really looked I got a good look and there was nothing.”
The three boys had that semi-smiling but still concerned look that this was only a bizarre misunderstanding, but they were still being very sincere. “Were they in a car?”
“No, Dad, you don’t get it,” my boy continued, “They were small. We thought it was a kid.”
“Yeah,” said the third boy. “We thought maybe it was Tony Taylor’s stupid kid sister shadowing us. Getting close to throwing water balloons. Just cause she did that before.”
“If you didn’t get a good look how did you know it was a kid?”
“Because it was small!” my kid explained, though that wasn’t helping much. “What I mean is, at first I thought it was behind a little bush. It was way too small a bush to hide a grown-up. That’s why we thought it was probably Tony’s sister.”
“But you didn’t actually see Tony’s sister?” I asked.
“Nah,” said one of his buds. “And now that I think about it, that bush was probably too small for his sister too. It would have been silly. Like when a cartoon character hides behind a tiny object.”
“That’s why we think it was just in our heads,” explained the other boy, “That and the pole.”
“Yeah,” my son said. “The park on 14th and Taylor?” That was just a little community park, a single city block. Had a playground, lawn, a few trees, and some benches. “Anyway, we were riding past that, took a right on Taylor. And we were talking about how weird it would be if somebody really were following us. That’s when Brian thought he saw something. Behind a telephone pole.”
“I didn’t get a good look at it either,” the friend, Brian, “explained. Just thought I did. Know how you get up late at night to use the bathroom or whatever and you look down the hallway and you see a jacket or an office chair or something and because your eyes haven’t adjusted you think you see a ghost or burglar or something? Anyway, I thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye, but when I turned there wasn’t anything there.”
“Yeah, it was just like sometimes that happens, except this time it happened twice on the same bike ride, is all,” the other friend explained.
“And you’re sure there was nothing there?”
“Sure we’re sure,” my boy said. “We know because that time we checked. We each rode our bikes around the pole and there was nothing. Honest!”
“Hmmm,” I said. The whole thing seemed reasonable and nothing to be concerned about, you’d think.. The boys seemed to relax at my supposed acceptance. “Alright, sounds good. Hey, just let me know before you leave the house again, alright?” They all rushed to seem agreeable as I left the room, then quickly resumed their snacking and preceded to play their games.
I kept my ear out, just in case. My boy, at least this time, dutifully told me his friends were about to leave. He wasn’t very happy with me when I said they wouldn’t be riding home on their bikes, I was going to drive them home. The other boys didn’t complain, but I suppose it wasn’t their place, so my boy did the advocating for them, which I promptly ignored. I hate doing that, ignoring my kid’s talkback. My dad was the same way. It didn’t help that I struggled to get both of their bikes in the trunk, and it was a pain to get them back out again. My boy sulked in the front seat on the short ride back home. Arms folded on chest, eyes staring straight ahead, that lip thing they do. He seemed embarrassed for having what he thought was an over-protective parent. I suppose he was angry at me as well for acting, as far as he knew, irrationally. Maybe he thought he was being punished for some infraction he didn’t understand.
Well, it only got worse when we got home. I told him he wasn’t allowed to go out alone on his bike anymore. I’d only had to do that once before, when he was grounded, and back then he’d known exactly what he’d done wrong and he had it coming. Now? Well, he was confused, furious, maybe betrayed, probably a little brokenhearted? I can’t blame him. He tramped upstairs to his room to await the return of his mother, who was certain to give a sympathetic ear. I can’t imagine how upset he’ll be if he checks the garage tomorrow and finds I’ve removed his tires, just in case.
I wish I could explain it to him. I don’t even know how.
Where should I even begin? The town?
When I was about my son’s age I had just seen that movie, The Goonies. It had just come out in theaters. I really liked that movie, felt a strong connection. A lot of people do, can’t blame them, sort of a timeless classic. Except I wasn’t really into pirate’s treasure or the Fratellis, what really made me connect was a simple single shot, still in the first act. It’s right after they cross the threshold, and leave the house on their adventure. It was a shot of the boys, from above, maybe a crane shot or a helicopter shot, as they’re riding their bikes down a narrow forested lane, great big evergreen trees densely growing on the side of the road, they’re all wearing raincoats and the road is still wet from recent rain.
That was my childhood. I’ve spent my whole life in the Pacific Northwest. People talk to outsiders about the rain, and they might picture a lot of rainfall, but it’s not the volume, it’s the duration. We don’t get so much rain, it just drizzles slowly, on and on, for maybe eight or nine months out of the year. It doesn’t matter where I am, inside a house, traveling far abroad, anywhere I am I can close my eyes and still smell the air on a chilly afternoon, playing outdoors with my friends.
It’s not petrichor, that sudden intense smell you get when it first starts to rain after a long dry spell. No, this was almost the opposite, a clean smell, almost the opposite of a scent, since the rain seemed to scrub the air clean. The strongest scent and I mean that in the loosest sense possible, must have been the evergreen needles. Not pine needles, those were too strong, and there weren’t that many pines anyway. Douglas fir and red cedar predominated, again the root ‘domination’ seems hyperbole. Yet those scents were there, ephemeral as it is. Also, there was a sort of pleasant dirtiness to the smell, at least when you rode bikes. It wasn’t dirt, or mud, or dust. Dust couldn’t have existed except perhaps for a few fleeting weeks in August. I think, looking back, it was the mud puddles. All the potholes in all the asphalt suburban roads would fill up after rain with water the color of chocolate milk. We’d swerve our BMX bikes, or the knock-off brands, all the way across the street just to splash through those puddles and test our “suspensions.,” meaning our ankles and knees. The smell was always stronger after that. It had an earthiness to it. Perhaps it was petrichor’s lesser-known watery cousin.
There were other sensations too, permanently seared into my brain like grill marks. A constant chilliness that was easy to ignore, until you started working up a good heart rate on your bike, then you noticed your lungs were so cold it felt like burning. The sound of your tires on the wet pavement, particularly when careening downhill at high speed. For some reason, people in the mid-80s used to like to decorate their front porches with cheap, polyester windsocks. They were often vividly colored, usually rainbow, like prototype pride flags. When an occasional wind stirred up enough to gust, the windsocks would flap, and owning to the water-soaked polyester, make a wet slapping sound. It was loud, it was distinct, but you learned to ignore it as part of the background, along with the cawing of crows and distant passing cars.
That was my perception of Farmingham as a kid. The town itself? Just a typical Pacific Northwest town. That might not mean much for younger people or modern visitors, but there was a time when such towns were all the same. They were logging towns. It was the greatest resource of the area from the late 19th century, right up until about the 80s, when the whole thing collapsed. Portland, Seattle, they had a few things going on beyond just the timber industry, but all the hundreds of little towns and small cities revolved around logging, and my town was no exception.
I remember going to the museum. It had free admission, and it was a popular field trip destination for the local school system. It used to be the City Hall, a weird Queen Anne-style construction. Imagine a big Victorian house, but blown up to absurd proportions, and with all sorts of superfluous decorations. Made out of local timber, of course. They had a hall for art, I can’t even remember why, now. Maybe they were local artists. I only remember paintings of sailboats and topless women, which was a rare sight for a kid at the time. There was a hall filled with 19th-century household artifacts. Chamber pots and weird children's toys.
Then there was the logging section, which was the bulk of the museum. It’s strange how different things seemed to be in the early days of the logging industry, despite being only about a hundred years old, from my perspective in the 1980s. If you look back a hundred years from today, in the 1920s, you had automobiles, airplanes, electrical appliances, jazz music, radio programs, flappers, it doesn’t feel that far removed, does it? No TV, no internet, but it wouldn’t be that strange. 1880s? Different world.
Imagine red cedars, so big you could have a full logging crew, arms stretched out, just barely manage to encircle one for a photographer. Felling a single tree was the work of days. Men could rest and eat their lunches in the shelter of a cut made into a trunk, and not worry for safety or room. They had to cut their own little platforms into the trees many feet off the ground, just so the trunk was a little bit thinner, and thus hours of labor saved. They used those long, flexible two-man saws. And double-bit axes. They worked in the gloom of the shade with old gas lanterns. Once cut down from massive logs thirty feet in diameter, they’d float the logs downhill in sluices, like primitive wooden make-shift water slides. Or they’d haul them down to the nearest river, the logs pulled by donkeys on corduroy roads. They’d lay large amounts of grease on the roads, so the logs would slide easily. You could still smell the grease on the old tools on display in the museum. The bigger towns had streets where the loggers would slide the logs down greased skids all the way down to the sea, where they’d float in big logjams until the mills were ready for processing. They’d call such roads “skid-rows.” Because of all the activity, they’d end up being the worst parts of town. Local citizens wouldn’t want to live there, due to all the stink and noise. They’d be on the other side of the brothels and the opium dens. It would be the sort of place where the destitute and the insane would find themselves when they’d finally lost anything. To this day, “skidrow” remains a euphemism for the part of a city where the homeless encamp.
That was the lore I’d learned as a child. That was my “ancestry” I was supposed to respect and admire, which I did, wholeheartedly. There were things they left out, though. Things that you might have suspected, from a naive perspective, would be perfect for kids, all the folklore that came with the logging industry. The ghost stories, and the tall tales. I would have eaten that up. They do talk about that kind of thing in places far removed from the Pacific Northwest. But I had never heard about any of it. Things like the Hidebehind. No, that I’d have to discover for myself.
There were four of us on those bike adventures. Myself. Ralph, my best friend. A tough guy, the bad boy, the most worldly of us, which is a strange thing to say about an eight-year-old kid. India, an archetypal ‘80s tomboy. She was the coolest person I knew at the time. Looking back, I wonder what her home life was like. I think I remember problematic warning signs that I couldn’t have recognized when I was so young, but now raise flags. Then there was Ben. A goofy kid, a wild mop of hair, coke bottle glasses, type 1 diabetic which seemed to make him both a bit pampered by his mother, who was in charge of all his insulin, diet, and schedule, and conversely a real risk taker when she wasn’t around.
When we first saw it…
No, wait. This was the problem with starting the story. Where does it all begin? I’ll need to talk about my Grandfather as well. I’ve had two different perspectives on my Grandfather, on the man that he was. The first was the healthy able-bodied grandparent I’d known as a young child. Then there was the man, as I learned about him after he had passed.
There was a middle period, from when I was 6 to when I was 16, when I hardly understood him at all, as he was hit with a double whammy of both Parkinson’s and Alzheimer's. His decline into an invalid was both steep and long drawn out. That part didn’t reflect who he was as a person.
What did I know of him when I was little? Well I knew he and my grandmother had a nice big house and some farmland, out in the broad flat valley north of Farmingham. Dairy country. It had been settled by Dutch immigrants back in the homesteading days. His family had been among the first pioneers in the county too. It didn’t register to me then that his surname was Norwegian, not Dutch. I knew he had served in the Navy in World War II, which I was immensely proud of for reasons I didn’t know why. I knew he had a job as a butcher in a nearby rural supermarket. He was a bit of a farmer too, more as a hobby and a side gig. He had a few cattle, but mostly grew and harvested hay to sell to the local dairies. I knew he had turned his garage into a machine shop, and could fix damn near anything. From the flat tires on my bicycle to the old flat-bed truck he’d haul hay with, to an old 1950s riding lawnmower he somehow managed to keep in working order. I knew he could draw a really cool cartoon cowboy, I knew he loved to watch football, and I knew the whiskers on his chin were very pokey, and they’d tickle you when he kissed you on the cheek, and that when you tried to rub the sensation away he’d laugh and laugh and laugh.
Then there were the parts of his life that I’d learn much later. Mostly from odd passing comments from relatives, or things I’d find in the public records. Like how he’d been a better grandfather than a father. Or how his life as I knew it had been a second, better life. He’d been born among the Norwegian settler community, way up in the deep, dark, forest-shrouded hills that rimmed the valley. He’d been a logger in his youth. Technologically he was only a generation or two from the ones I’d learned about in the museum. They’d replaced donkeys with diesel engines and corduroy roads with narrow gauge rail. It was still the same job, though. Dirty, dangerous, dark. Way back into those woods, living in little logging camps, civilization was always a several-day hike out. It became a vulgar sort of profession, filled with violent men, reprobates, and thieves. When my grandfather’s father was murdered on his front porch by a lunatic claiming he’d been wronged somehow, my grandfather hiked out of there, got into town, and joined the Navy. He vowed never to go back. The things he’d seen out in those woods were no good. He’d kept that existence away from me. Anyways…
Tommy Barker was the first of us to go missing. I say ‘us’ as if I knew him personally. I didn’t. He went to Farmingham Middle School, other side of town, and several grades above us. From our perspective, he may as well have been an adult living overseas.
Yet it felt like we got to know him. His face was everywhere, on TV, all over telephone poles. Everybody was talking about him. After he didn’t return from a friend’s house, everybody just sort of assumed, or maybe hoped, that he’d just gotten lost, or was trapped somewhere. They searched all the parks. Backyards, junkyards, refrigerators, trunks. Old-fashioned refrigerators, back before suction seals, had a simple handle with a latch that opened when you pulled on it. It wasn’t a problem when the fridges were in use and filled with food. But by the 80s old broke-down refrigerators started filling up backyards and junkyards, and they became deathtraps for kids playing hide-and-seek. The only opened from the outside. I remember thinking Tommy Barker was a little old to have likely been playing hide-and-seek, but people checked everywhere anyway. They never found him.
That was about the first time we saw the Hidebehind. Ben said he thought he saw somebody following us, looked like, maybe, a kid. We’d just slowly huffed our way up a moderately steep hill, Farmingham is full of them, and when we paused for a breather at the top, Ben said he saw it down the hill, closer to the base. Yet when we turned to look there was nothing there. Ben said he’d just seen it duck behind a car. That wasn’t the sort of behavior of a random kid minding his own business. Yet the slope afforded us a view under the car’s carriage, and except for the four tires, there were no signs of any feet hiding behind the body. At first, we thought he was pulling our leg. When he insisted he wasn’t, we started to tease him a little. He must have been seeing things, on account of his poor vision and thick glasses. The fact that those glasses afforded him vision as good as or better than any of us wasn’t something we considered.
The next person to disappear was Amy Brooks. Fifth-grader. Next elementary school over. I remember it feeling like when you’re traveling down the freeway, and there’s a big thunderstorm way down the road, but it keeps getting closer, and closer. I don’t remember what she looked like. Her face wasn’t plastered everywhere like Tommy’s had been. She was mentioned on the regional news, out of Seattle, her and Tommy together. Two missing kids from the same town in a short amount of time. The implication was as obvious as it was depraved. They didn’t think the kids were getting lost anymore. They didn’t do very much searching of backyards. The narratives changed too. Teachers started talking a lot about stranger danger. Local TV channels started recycling old After School Specials and public service announcements about the subject.
I’m not sure who saw it next. I think it was Ben again. We took him seriously this time though. I think. The one I’m sure I remember was soon after, and that time it was India who first saw it. It’s still crystal clear in my memory, almost forty years later, because that was the time I first saw it too. We were riding through a four-way stop, an Idaho Stop before they called it that, when India slammed to a stop, locking up her coaster brakes and leaving a long black streak of rubber on a dry patch of pavement. We stopped quickly after and asked what the problem was. We could tell by her face she’d seen it. She was still looking at it.
“I see it,” she whispered, unnecessarily. We all followed her gaze. We were looking, I don’t know, ten seconds? Twenty? We believed everything she said, we just couldn’t see it.
“Where?” Ralph asked.
“Four blocks down,” she whispered. “On the left. See the red car? Kinda rusty?” There was indeed a big old Lincoln Continental, looking pretty ratty and worn. I focused on that, still seeing nothing. “Past that, just to its right. See the street light pole? It’s just behind that.”
We also saw the pole she was talking about. Metal. Aluminum, I’d have guessed. It had different color patches, like metallic flakeboard. Like it’d had been melted together out of scrap.
I could see that clearly even from that distance. I saw nothing behind it. I could see plenty of other things in the background, cars, houses, bushes, front lawns, beauty bark landscape.. There was no indication of anything behind that pole.
And then it moved. It had been right there where she said it had been, yet it had somehow perfectly blended into the landscape, a trick of perspective. We didn’t see it at all until it moved, and almost as fast it had disappeared behind that light pole. We only got a hint. Brown in color, about our height in size.
We screamed. Short little startled screams, the involuntary sort that just burst out of you. Then we turned and started to pedal like mad, thoroughly spooked. We made it to the intersection of the next block when it was Ralph who screeched to a halt and shouted, “Wait!”
We slowed down and stopped, perhaps not as eagerly as we’d done when India yelled. Ralph was looking back over his shoulder, looking at that metal pole. “Did anybody see it move again?’ he asked. We all shook our heads in the negative. Ralph didn’t notice, but of course, he didn’t really need an answer, of course we hadn’t been watching.
“If it didn’t move, then it’s still there!” Ralph explained the obvious. It took a second to sink in, despite the obvious. “C’mon!” he shouted, and to our surprise, before we could react, he turned and took off, straight down the road, straight to where that thing had been lurking.
We were incredulous, but something about his order made us all follow hot on his heels. He was a sort of natural leader. I thought it was total foolishness, but I wasn’t going to let him go alone. I think I got out, “Are you crazy?!”
The wind was blowing hard past our faces as we raced as fast as we could, it made it hard to hear. Ralph shouted his response. “If it’s hiding that means its afraid!” That seemed reasonable, if not totally accurate. Lions hide from their prey before they attack. Then again, they don’t wait around when the whole herd charges. Really, the pole was coming up so fast there wasn’t a whole lot of time to argue. “Just blast past and look!” Ralph added. “We’re too fast! It won’t catch us.”
Sure, I thought to myself. Except maybe Ben, who always lagged behind the rest of us in a race. The lion would get Ben if any of us.
We rushed past that pole and all turned our heads to look. “See!” Ralph shouted in triumph. There was simply nothing there. A metal streetlight pole and nothing more. We stopped pedaling yet still sped on. “Hang on,” Ralph said, and at the next intersection he took a fast looping curve that threatened to crash us all, but we managed and curved behind him. We all came to the pole again where we stopped to see up close that there was nothing there, despite what we had seen moments before.
“Maybe it bilocated,” Ben offered. We groaned. We were all thinking it, but I think we were dismissive because it wasn’t as cool a word as ‘teleport.”
“Maybe it just moved when we weren’t looking,” I offered. That hadn’t been long, but that didn’t mean anything if it moved fast. The four of us slowly looked up from the base of the pole to our immediate surroundings. There were bushes. A car in a carport covered by a tarpaulin. The carport itself. Garbage cans. Stumps. Of course the ever-present trees. Whatever it was it could have been hiding behind anything. Maybe it was. We looked. Maybe it would make itself seen. None of us wanted that. “OK, let’s get going,” Ralph said, and we did so.
I got home feeling pretty shaken that afternoon. I felt safe at home. Except for the front room, which had a big bay window looking out onto the street, and the people who lived across it. There were plenty of garbage cans and telephone poles and stumps that a small, fast thing might hide behind. No, I felt more comfortable in my bedroom. There was a window, but a great thick conical cypress tree grew right in front of it, reaching way up over the roof of the house. If anything, it offered ME a place to hide, and peer out onto the street to either side of the tree. It was protective, as good as any heavy blanket.
submitted by Guilty_Chemistry9337 to EBDavis [link] [comments]
Paleolithic parents who didn’t check on their toddlers every few minutes, just to double check that they weren’t being stalked by smilodons were unlikely to have grandchildren and pass on their genes. You just feel you need to check, like getting goosebumps, a compulsion. I suppose it’s the same reason little kids are always demanding you look at them and what they’re doing.
I think that instinct starts to atrophy as your kids grow. They start learning to do things for themselves, and before you know it, they’re after their own privacy, not your attention. I don’t think it ever goes away though. I expect, decades from now, my own grown kids will visit and bring my grandkids with them. And the second I hear a baby crying in the earliest morning hours, I’ll be alert and ready for anything, sure as any old soldier who hears his name whispered in the dark of night.
I felt that alarm just the other day. First time in years. My boy came home from riding bikes with a couple of his friends. I’m pretty sure they worked out a scam where they asked each of their parents for a different new console for Christmas, and now they spend their weekends traveling between the three houses so they can play on all of them.
We all live in a nice neighborhood. A newer development than the one I grew up in, same town though. It’s the kind of place where kids are always playing in the streets, and the cars all routinely do under 20. My wife and I make sure the kids have helmets and pads, and we’re fine with the boy going out biking with his friends, as long as they stay in the neighborhood.
You know, a lot of people in my generation take some weird sort of pride in how irresponsible we used to be when we were young. I never wore a helmet. Rode to places, without telling any adults, that we never should have ridden to. Me and my friends would make impromptu jumps off of makeshift ramps and try to do stupid tricks, based loosely on stunts we’d seen on TV. Other people my age seem to wax nostalgic for that stuff and pretend it makes them somehow better people. I don’t get it. Sometimes I look back and shudder. We were lucky we escaped with only occasional bruises and road burns. It could have gone so much worse.
My son and his buddies came bustling in the front door at about 2 PM on a Saturday. They did the usual thing of raiding the kitchen for juice and his mother’s brownies, and I took that as my cue to abandon the television in the living room for my office. I was hardly noticing the chaos, by this point, it was becoming a regular weekend occurrence. But as I was just leaving, I caught something in the chatter. My boy said something about, “... that guy who was following us.”
He hadn’t said it any louder or more clearly than anything else they’d been talking about, all that stuff I’d been filtering out. Yet some deeper core process in my brain stem heard it, interpreted it, then hit the red alert button. My blood ran cold and every hair on my skin stood at attention.
I turned around and asked “Somebody followed you? What are you talking about?” I wasn’t consciously aware of how strict and stern my voice came out, yet when the jovial smiles dropped off of their faces it was apparent that it had been so.
“Huh?” my son said, his voice high-pitched and talking fast, like when he thinks he’s in trouble and needs to explain. “We thought we saw somebody following us. There wasn’t though. We didn’t really see anybody and we’d just spooked ourselves.”
“What did he look like?” I asked.
“Nothing? We really didn’t see anybody! Honest! I just saw something out of the corner of my eye! But there wasn’t really nobody there!”
“Yeah!,” said one of his buds. “Peripheral! Peripheral vision! I thought maybe I saw something too, but when I looked I didn’t see anything. I don’t have my glasses with me, but when I really looked I got a good look and there was nothing.”
The three boys had that semi-smiling but still concerned look that this was only a bizarre misunderstanding, but they were still being very sincere. “Were they in a car?”
“No, Dad, you don’t get it,” my boy continued, “They were small. We thought it was a kid.”
“Yeah,” said the third boy. “We thought maybe it was Tony Taylor’s stupid kid sister shadowing us. Getting close to throwing water balloons. Just cause she did that before.”
“If you didn’t get a good look how did you know it was a kid?”
“Because it was small!” my kid explained, though that wasn’t helping much. “What I mean is, at first I thought it was behind a little bush. It was way too small a bush to hide a grown-up. That’s why we thought it was probably Tony’s sister.”
“But you didn’t actually see Tony’s sister?” I asked.
“Nah,” said one of his buds. “And now that I think about it, that bush was probably too small for his sister too. It would have been silly. Like when a cartoon character hides behind a tiny object.”
“That’s why we think it was just in our heads,” explained the other boy, “That and the pole.”
“Yeah,” my son said. “The park on 14th and Taylor?” That was just a little community park, a single city block. Had a playground, lawn, a few trees, and some benches. “Anyway, we were riding past that, took a right on Taylor. And we were talking about how weird it would be if somebody really were following us. That’s when Brian thought he saw something. Behind a telephone pole.”
“I didn’t get a good look at it either,” the friend, Brian, “explained. Just thought I did. Know how you get up late at night to use the bathroom or whatever and you look down the hallway and you see a jacket or an office chair or something and because your eyes haven’t adjusted you think you see a ghost or burglar or something? Anyway, I thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye, but when I turned there wasn’t anything there.”
“Yeah, it was just like sometimes that happens, except this time it happened twice on the same bike ride, is all,” the other friend explained.
“And you’re sure there was nothing there?”
“Sure we’re sure,” my boy said. “We know because that time we checked. We each rode our bikes around the pole and there was nothing. Honest!”
“Hmmm,” I said. The whole thing seemed reasonable and nothing to be concerned about, you’d think.. The boys seemed to relax at my supposed acceptance. “Alright, sounds good. Hey, just let me know before you leave the house again, alright?” They all rushed to seem agreeable as I left the room, then quickly resumed their snacking and preceded to play their games.
I kept my ear out, just in case. My boy, at least this time, dutifully told me his friends were about to leave. He wasn’t very happy with me when I said they wouldn’t be riding home on their bikes, I was going to drive them home. The other boys didn’t complain, but I suppose it wasn’t their place, so my boy did the advocating for them, which I promptly ignored. I hate doing that, ignoring my kid’s talkback. My dad was the same way. It didn’t help that I struggled to get both of their bikes in the trunk, and it was a pain to get them back out again. My boy sulked in the front seat on the short ride back home. Arms folded on chest, eyes staring straight ahead, that lip thing they do. He seemed embarrassed for having what he thought was an over-protective parent. I suppose he was angry at me as well for acting, as far as he knew, irrationally. Maybe he thought he was being punished for some infraction he didn’t understand.
Well, it only got worse when we got home. I told him he wasn’t allowed to go out alone on his bike anymore. I’d only had to do that once before, when he was grounded, and back then he’d known exactly what he’d done wrong and he had it coming. Now? Well, he was confused, furious, maybe betrayed, probably a little brokenhearted? I can’t blame him. He tramped upstairs to his room to await the return of his mother, who was certain to give a sympathetic ear. I can’t imagine how upset he’ll be if he checks the garage tomorrow and finds I’ve removed his tires, just in case.
I wish I could explain it to him. I don’t even know how.
Where should I even begin? The town?
When I was about my son’s age I had just seen that movie, The Goonies. It had just come out in theaters. I really liked that movie, felt a strong connection. A lot of people do, can’t blame them, sort of a timeless classic. Except I wasn’t really into pirate’s treasure or the Fratellis, what really made me connect was a simple single shot, still in the first act. It’s right after they cross the threshold, and leave the house on their adventure. It was a shot of the boys, from above, maybe a crane shot or a helicopter shot, as they’re riding their bikes down a narrow forested lane, great big evergreen trees densely growing on the side of the road, they’re all wearing raincoats and the road is still wet from recent rain.
That was my childhood. I’ve spent my whole life in the Pacific Northwest. People talk to outsiders about the rain, and they might picture a lot of rainfall, but it’s not the volume, it’s the duration. We don’t get so much rain, it just drizzles slowly, on and on, for maybe eight or nine months out of the year. It doesn’t matter where I am, inside a house, traveling far abroad, anywhere I am I can close my eyes and still smell the air on a chilly afternoon, playing outdoors with my friends.
It’s not petrichor, that sudden intense smell you get when it first starts to rain after a long dry spell. No, this was almost the opposite, a clean smell, almost the opposite of a scent, since the rain seemed to scrub the air clean. The strongest scent and I mean that in the loosest sense possible, must have been the evergreen needles. Not pine needles, those were too strong, and there weren’t that many pines anyway. Douglas fir and red cedar predominated, again the root ‘domination’ seems hyperbole. Yet those scents were there, ephemeral as it is. Also, there was a sort of pleasant dirtiness to the smell, at least when you rode bikes. It wasn’t dirt, or mud, or dust. Dust couldn’t have existed except perhaps for a few fleeting weeks in August. I think, looking back, it was the mud puddles. All the potholes in all the asphalt suburban roads would fill up after rain with water the color of chocolate milk. We’d swerve our BMX bikes, or the knock-off brands, all the way across the street just to splash through those puddles and test our “suspensions.,” meaning our ankles and knees. The smell was always stronger after that. It had an earthiness to it. Perhaps it was petrichor’s lesser-known watery cousin.
There were other sensations too, permanently seared into my brain like grill marks. A constant chilliness that was easy to ignore, until you started working up a good heart rate on your bike, then you noticed your lungs were so cold it felt like burning. The sound of your tires on the wet pavement, particularly when careening downhill at high speed. For some reason, people in the mid-80s used to like to decorate their front porches with cheap, polyester windsocks. They were often vividly colored, usually rainbow, like prototype pride flags. When an occasional wind stirred up enough to gust, the windsocks would flap, and owning to the water-soaked polyester, make a wet slapping sound. It was loud, it was distinct, but you learned to ignore it as part of the background, along with the cawing of crows and distant passing cars.
That was my perception of Farmingham as a kid. The town itself? Just a typical Pacific Northwest town. That might not mean much for younger people or modern visitors, but there was a time when such towns were all the same. They were logging towns. It was the greatest resource of the area from the late 19th century, right up until about the 80s, when the whole thing collapsed. Portland, Seattle, they had a few things going on beyond just the timber industry, but all the hundreds of little towns and small cities revolved around logging, and my town was no exception.
I remember going to the museum. It had free admission, and it was a popular field trip destination for the local school system. It used to be the City Hall, a weird Queen Anne-style construction. Imagine a big Victorian house, but blown up to absurd proportions, and with all sorts of superfluous decorations. Made out of local timber, of course. They had a hall for art, I can’t even remember why, now. Maybe they were local artists. I only remember paintings of sailboats and topless women, which was a rare sight for a kid at the time. There was a hall filled with 19th-century household artifacts. Chamber pots and weird children's toys.
Then there was the logging section, which was the bulk of the museum. It’s strange how different things seemed to be in the early days of the logging industry, despite being only about a hundred years old, from my perspective in the 1980s. If you look back a hundred years from today, in the 1920s, you had automobiles, airplanes, electrical appliances, jazz music, radio programs, flappers, it doesn’t feel that far removed, does it? No TV, no internet, but it wouldn’t be that strange. 1880s? Different world.
Imagine red cedars, so big you could have a full logging crew, arms stretched out, just barely manage to encircle one for a photographer. Felling a single tree was the work of days. Men could rest and eat their lunches in the shelter of a cut made into a trunk, and not worry for safety or room. They had to cut their own little platforms into the trees many feet off the ground, just so the trunk was a little bit thinner, and thus hours of labor saved. They used those long, flexible two-man saws. And double-bit axes. They worked in the gloom of the shade with old gas lanterns. Once cut down from massive logs thirty feet in diameter, they’d float the logs downhill in sluices, like primitive wooden make-shift water slides. Or they’d haul them down to the nearest river, the logs pulled by donkeys on corduroy roads. They’d lay large amounts of grease on the roads, so the logs would slide easily. You could still smell the grease on the old tools on display in the museum. The bigger towns had streets where the loggers would slide the logs down greased skids all the way down to the sea, where they’d float in big logjams until the mills were ready for processing. They’d call such roads “skid-rows.” Because of all the activity, they’d end up being the worst parts of town. Local citizens wouldn’t want to live there, due to all the stink and noise. They’d be on the other side of the brothels and the opium dens. It would be the sort of place where the destitute and the insane would find themselves when they’d finally lost anything. To this day, “skidrow” remains a euphemism for the part of a city where the homeless encamp.
That was the lore I’d learned as a child. That was my “ancestry” I was supposed to respect and admire, which I did, wholeheartedly. There were things they left out, though. Things that you might have suspected, from a naive perspective, would be perfect for kids, all the folklore that came with the logging industry. The ghost stories, and the tall tales. I would have eaten that up. They do talk about that kind of thing in places far removed from the Pacific Northwest. But I had never heard about any of it. Things like the Hidebehind. No, that I’d have to discover for myself.
There were four of us on those bike adventures. Myself. Ralph, my best friend. A tough guy, the bad boy, the most worldly of us, which is a strange thing to say about an eight-year-old kid. India, an archetypal ‘80s tomboy. She was the coolest person I knew at the time. Looking back, I wonder what her home life was like. I think I remember problematic warning signs that I couldn’t have recognized when I was so young, but now raise flags. Then there was Ben. A goofy kid, a wild mop of hair, coke bottle glasses, type 1 diabetic which seemed to make him both a bit pampered by his mother, who was in charge of all his insulin, diet, and schedule, and conversely a real risk taker when she wasn’t around.
When we first saw it…
No, wait. This was the problem with starting the story. Where does it all begin? I’ll need to talk about my Grandfather as well. I’ve had two different perspectives on my Grandfather, on the man that he was. The first was the healthy able-bodied grandparent I’d known as a young child. Then there was the man, as I learned about him after he had passed.
There was a middle period, from when I was 6 to when I was 16, when I hardly understood him at all, as he was hit with a double whammy of both Parkinson’s and Alzheimer's. His decline into an invalid was both steep and long drawn out. That part didn’t reflect who he was as a person.
What did I know of him when I was little? Well I knew he and my grandmother had a nice big house and some farmland, out in the broad flat valley north of Farmingham. Dairy country. It had been settled by Dutch immigrants back in the homesteading days. His family had been among the first pioneers in the county too. It didn’t register to me then that his surname was Norwegian, not Dutch. I knew he had served in the Navy in World War II, which I was immensely proud of for reasons I didn’t know why. I knew he had a job as a butcher in a nearby rural supermarket. He was a bit of a farmer too, more as a hobby and a side gig. He had a few cattle, but mostly grew and harvested hay to sell to the local dairies. I knew he had turned his garage into a machine shop, and could fix damn near anything. From the flat tires on my bicycle to the old flat-bed truck he’d haul hay with, to an old 1950s riding lawnmower he somehow managed to keep in working order. I knew he could draw a really cool cartoon cowboy, I knew he loved to watch football, and I knew the whiskers on his chin were very pokey, and they’d tickle you when he kissed you on the cheek, and that when you tried to rub the sensation away he’d laugh and laugh and laugh.
Then there were the parts of his life that I’d learn much later. Mostly from odd passing comments from relatives, or things I’d find in the public records. Like how he’d been a better grandfather than a father. Or how his life as I knew it had been a second, better life. He’d been born among the Norwegian settler community, way up in the deep, dark, forest-shrouded hills that rimmed the valley. He’d been a logger in his youth. Technologically he was only a generation or two from the ones I’d learned about in the museum. They’d replaced donkeys with diesel engines and corduroy roads with narrow gauge rail. It was still the same job, though. Dirty, dangerous, dark. Way back into those woods, living in little logging camps, civilization was always a several-day hike out. It became a vulgar sort of profession, filled with violent men, reprobates, and thieves. When my grandfather’s father was murdered on his front porch by a lunatic claiming he’d been wronged somehow, my grandfather hiked out of there, got into town, and joined the Navy. He vowed never to go back. The things he’d seen out in those woods were no good. He’d kept that existence away from me. Anyways…
Tommy Barker was the first of us to go missing. I say ‘us’ as if I knew him personally. I didn’t. He went to Farmingham Middle School, other side of town, and several grades above us. From our perspective, he may as well have been an adult living overseas.
Yet it felt like we got to know him. His face was everywhere, on TV, all over telephone poles. Everybody was talking about him. After he didn’t return from a friend’s house, everybody just sort of assumed, or maybe hoped, that he’d just gotten lost, or was trapped somewhere. They searched all the parks. Backyards, junkyards, refrigerators, trunks. Old-fashioned refrigerators, back before suction seals, had a simple handle with a latch that opened when you pulled on it. It wasn’t a problem when the fridges were in use and filled with food. But by the 80s old broke-down refrigerators started filling up backyards and junkyards, and they became deathtraps for kids playing hide-and-seek. The only opened from the outside. I remember thinking Tommy Barker was a little old to have likely been playing hide-and-seek, but people checked everywhere anyway. They never found him.
That was about the first time we saw the Hidebehind. Ben said he thought he saw somebody following us, looked like, maybe, a kid. We’d just slowly huffed our way up a moderately steep hill, Farmingham is full of them, and when we paused for a breather at the top, Ben said he saw it down the hill, closer to the base. Yet when we turned to look there was nothing there. Ben said he’d just seen it duck behind a car. That wasn’t the sort of behavior of a random kid minding his own business. Yet the slope afforded us a view under the car’s carriage, and except for the four tires, there were no signs of any feet hiding behind the body. At first, we thought he was pulling our leg. When he insisted he wasn’t, we started to tease him a little. He must have been seeing things, on account of his poor vision and thick glasses. The fact that those glasses afforded him vision as good as or better than any of us wasn’t something we considered.
The next person to disappear was Amy Brooks. Fifth-grader. Next elementary school over. I remember it feeling like when you’re traveling down the freeway, and there’s a big thunderstorm way down the road, but it keeps getting closer, and closer. I don’t remember what she looked like. Her face wasn’t plastered everywhere like Tommy’s had been. She was mentioned on the regional news, out of Seattle, her and Tommy together. Two missing kids from the same town in a short amount of time. The implication was as obvious as it was depraved. They didn’t think the kids were getting lost anymore. They didn’t do very much searching of backyards. The narratives changed too. Teachers started talking a lot about stranger danger. Local TV channels started recycling old After School Specials and public service announcements about the subject.
I’m not sure who saw it next. I think it was Ben again. We took him seriously this time though. I think. The one I’m sure I remember was soon after, and that time it was India who first saw it. It’s still crystal clear in my memory, almost forty years later, because that was the time I first saw it too. We were riding through a four-way stop, an Idaho Stop before they called it that, when India slammed to a stop, locking up her coaster brakes and leaving a long black streak of rubber on a dry patch of pavement. We stopped quickly after and asked what the problem was. We could tell by her face she’d seen it. She was still looking at it.
“I see it,” she whispered, unnecessarily. We all followed her gaze. We were looking, I don’t know, ten seconds? Twenty? We believed everything she said, we just couldn’t see it.
“Where?” Ralph asked.
“Four blocks down,” she whispered. “On the left. See the red car? Kinda rusty?” There was indeed a big old Lincoln Continental, looking pretty ratty and worn. I focused on that, still seeing nothing. “Past that, just to its right. See the street light pole? It’s just behind that.”
We also saw the pole she was talking about. Metal. Aluminum, I’d have guessed. It had different color patches, like metallic flakeboard. Like it’d had been melted together out of scrap.
I could see that clearly even from that distance. I saw nothing behind it. I could see plenty of other things in the background, cars, houses, bushes, front lawns, beauty bark landscape.. There was no indication of anything behind that pole.
And then it moved. It had been right there where she said it had been, yet it had somehow perfectly blended into the landscape, a trick of perspective. We didn’t see it at all until it moved, and almost as fast it had disappeared behind that light pole. We only got a hint. Brown in color, about our height in size.
We screamed. Short little startled screams, the involuntary sort that just burst out of you. Then we turned and started to pedal like mad, thoroughly spooked. We made it to the intersection of the next block when it was Ralph who screeched to a halt and shouted, “Wait!”
We slowed down and stopped, perhaps not as eagerly as we’d done when India yelled. Ralph was looking back over his shoulder, looking at that metal pole. “Did anybody see it move again?’ he asked. We all shook our heads in the negative. Ralph didn’t notice, but of course, he didn’t really need an answer, of course we hadn’t been watching.
“If it didn’t move, then it’s still there!” Ralph explained the obvious. It took a second to sink in, despite the obvious. “C’mon!” he shouted, and to our surprise, before we could react, he turned and took off, straight down the road, straight to where that thing had been lurking.
We were incredulous, but something about his order made us all follow hot on his heels. He was a sort of natural leader. I thought it was total foolishness, but I wasn’t going to let him go alone. I think I got out, “Are you crazy?!”
The wind was blowing hard past our faces as we raced as fast as we could, it made it hard to hear. Ralph shouted his response. “If it’s hiding that means its afraid!” That seemed reasonable, if not totally accurate. Lions hide from their prey before they attack. Then again, they don’t wait around when the whole herd charges. Really, the pole was coming up so fast there wasn’t a whole lot of time to argue. “Just blast past and look!” Ralph added. “We’re too fast! It won’t catch us.”
Sure, I thought to myself. Except maybe Ben, who always lagged behind the rest of us in a race. The lion would get Ben if any of us.
We rushed past that pole and all turned our heads to look. “See!” Ralph shouted in triumph. There was simply nothing there. A metal streetlight pole and nothing more. We stopped pedaling yet still sped on. “Hang on,” Ralph said, and at the next intersection he took a fast looping curve that threatened to crash us all, but we managed and curved behind him. We all came to the pole again where we stopped to see up close that there was nothing there, despite what we had seen moments before.
“Maybe it bilocated,” Ben offered. We groaned. We were all thinking it, but I think we were dismissive because it wasn’t as cool a word as ‘teleport.”
“Maybe it just moved when we weren’t looking,” I offered. That hadn’t been long, but that didn’t mean anything if it moved fast. The four of us slowly looked up from the base of the pole to our immediate surroundings. There were bushes. A car in a carport covered by a tarpaulin. The carport itself. Garbage cans. Stumps. Of course the ever-present trees. Whatever it was it could have been hiding behind anything. Maybe it was. We looked. Maybe it would make itself seen. None of us wanted that. “OK, let’s get going,” Ralph said, and we did so.
I got home feeling pretty shaken that afternoon. I felt safe at home. Except for the front room, which had a big bay window looking out onto the street, and the people who lived across it. There were plenty of garbage cans and telephone poles and stumps that a small, fast thing might hide behind. No, I felt more comfortable in my bedroom. There was a window, but a great thick conical cypress tree grew right in front of it, reaching way up over the roof of the house. If anything, it offered ME a place to hide, and peer out onto the street to either side of the tree. It was protective, as good as any heavy blanket.
2023.06.01 05:02 jboogie520 Alone on my birthday (not sad)
This year I'll have the pleasure of my own company on my birthday. I'm on a budget somewhat. So far I plan on getting a cute outfit from old navy because I have some super cash. What else should I do to celebrate another trip around the sun?!
submitted by jboogie520 to Tucson [link] [comments]
2023.06.01 04:23 travisthechimp999 Navy drone over the Chesapeake second time this week
 | submitted by travisthechimp999 to flightradar24 [link] [comments] |
2023.06.01 04:22 Willing-Muffin4748 Fashionistas, Unite: The Great Style Showdown
Howdy, fellow fashion fanatics on Reddit! Isn't it absolutely riveting how our sense of style evolves and transforms over time? And isn't it equally enthralling to engage in those age-old style debates that are as timeless as the classics themselves? Well, sit tight because today we're diving headfirst into the world of fashion duels!
Recently, I found myself right in the heart of a fiery debate: Black Slim-Fit Jeans vs Charcoal Two-Piece Suit. Sounds intriguing, right? I mean, both have their undeniable appeal. Black jeans are the epitome of casual-cool, while a charcoal suit is the ultimate symbol of elegance and sophistication. How do you even begin to compare? Is your sartorial soul more at home in jeans or do you lean towards the sharp formality of a suit?
But hold your fashion horses, we're not done yet! The battlefield swiftly changed when a pair of Navy Cargo Shorts was thrown into the ring against the black slim-fit jeans. And there we were, caught in the classic tussle between casual comfort and stylish appeal. Do you prefer the laid-back, breezy vibe of cargo shorts or do you stick with the universal appeal of black jeans? And if you ask me, is there even a right or wrong answer here?
Moving on from the battleground of the bottoms, let's switch it up to a face-off of the top wear. This time around, we found ourselves entrenched in the Blue Denim Shirt vs Camel Wool Coat debate. Ah, the age-old question: casual chic or elegant warmth? Does the effortless cool of a blue denim shirt steal your heart or do you fall for the cozy allure of a camel wool coat?
So, dear Reddit style mavens, what say you in these sartorial showdowns? Are you team jeans, team suit, or somewhere in between? How about the classic denim shirt versus the timeless wool coat? Unleash your fashion insights and let's keep this conversation going!
#FashionDebate #StyleShowdown #DenimVsSuit #CasualVsFormal #FashionPeer #TeamJeans #TeamSuit #TeamDenimShirt #TeamWoolCoat
submitted by Willing-Muffin4748 to u/Willing-Muffin4748 [link] [comments]
Recently, I found myself right in the heart of a fiery debate: Black Slim-Fit Jeans vs Charcoal Two-Piece Suit. Sounds intriguing, right? I mean, both have their undeniable appeal. Black jeans are the epitome of casual-cool, while a charcoal suit is the ultimate symbol of elegance and sophistication. How do you even begin to compare? Is your sartorial soul more at home in jeans or do you lean towards the sharp formality of a suit?
But hold your fashion horses, we're not done yet! The battlefield swiftly changed when a pair of Navy Cargo Shorts was thrown into the ring against the black slim-fit jeans. And there we were, caught in the classic tussle between casual comfort and stylish appeal. Do you prefer the laid-back, breezy vibe of cargo shorts or do you stick with the universal appeal of black jeans? And if you ask me, is there even a right or wrong answer here?
Moving on from the battleground of the bottoms, let's switch it up to a face-off of the top wear. This time around, we found ourselves entrenched in the Blue Denim Shirt vs Camel Wool Coat debate. Ah, the age-old question: casual chic or elegant warmth? Does the effortless cool of a blue denim shirt steal your heart or do you fall for the cozy allure of a camel wool coat?
So, dear Reddit style mavens, what say you in these sartorial showdowns? Are you team jeans, team suit, or somewhere in between? How about the classic denim shirt versus the timeless wool coat? Unleash your fashion insights and let's keep this conversation going!
#FashionDebate #StyleShowdown #DenimVsSuit #CasualVsFormal #FashionPeer #TeamJeans #TeamSuit #TeamDenimShirt #TeamWoolCoat
2023.06.01 03:57 OldSalt29 Calckey
I have put up a Calckey website but I can't seem to find any info on how to administrate it or how it actually works in a live environment. If anyone has some URLs or just plain info it would be much appreciated to be guided to best practices and making it work for users. Thanks.
The site itself is here: https://e29w.com. That's an old Navy term as my job was Electronic Warfare way back in the Vietnam war.
submitted by OldSalt29 to fediverse [link] [comments]
The site itself is here: https://e29w.com. That's an old Navy term as my job was Electronic Warfare way back in the Vietnam war.
2023.06.01 03:48 starwarscom69 Could you create a whole new style for yourself in your mid 30s?
I have never been into clothes or fashion. My wardrobe consists mostly of shorts/pants from Costco and plain shirts from old navy with some band and team shirts I’ve acquired through the years. I was watching a show recently with my wife who remarked that a character had a cool style which consisted of a hat, braided necklace, patterned button up and groomed beard/mustache combo. All this being said, would it be reasonable for someone to just create a new style for themselves this late in the game that doesn’t just shout “dad who doesn’t try to hard to dress himself”?
submitted by starwarscom69 to ask [link] [comments]
2023.06.01 03:37 r3dkangar00 May Recap & June Template!
submitted by r3dkangar00 to nobuy [link] [comments]
2023.06.01 03:35 Early-Abroad Sacramento California rape, looking for other possible victims
In April 2010 I was raped by a white man, that was about 5’8 - 5’10 a chunkier man maybe about 190-210lbs, he had salt and pepper hair late 30 to early 40’s he drove an old boxy looking navy blue Buick, I never got to get a rape kit done. This has bothered me for the past 13 years! I hope that he was caught, but I just don’t know. He was extremely creepy and talked very calmly “I know all about girls like you, you need to get off these streets”, “I know you’re angry, I’m going to let you go since you did everything I told you” so calm the whole time. Made me swish my mouth with tea after, as if raping me raw didn’t leave his DNA. I could tell he had raped other women before! It just kills me to think he may have done this for many years after it happened to me or may be still out there! If anyone knows someone or have experienced something similar in Sacramento California please let me know! Thank you!
submitted by Early-Abroad to rape [link] [comments]
2023.06.01 03:10 Ok-Walk-8719 Is there any benefits for making enrollments?
I recently started to work in Old Navy and I wasn’t told I had to report enrollment totals for the reward (which I did in my shift). What’s the importance of that? Any additional benefits?
submitted by Ok-Walk-8719 to Oldnavy [link] [comments]
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submitted by Warthog9198 to CanadianReferral [link] [comments]
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submitted by Warthog9198 to Referrallinks [link] [comments]
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submitted by Warthog9198 to referralswaps [link] [comments]
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