Beauty of Planet Earth
By Gary Cummins
Beauty of Planet Earth
By Gary Cummins
This is on one of the gates to the wooden fence around the house. Is this wood rot or is it like termite damage or something? It doesn't seem like a spot that would get damp and the wood around it seems fine.
submitted by /u/Lazy_ML [link] [comments] source https://www.reddit.com/r/Home/comments/mt0ufd/is_this_wood_damage_something_i_need_to_be/
Wabi Sabi Minimalism: Sense Apartment in Copenhagen - Homes - Aesthetics of the Everyday
OMG I JUST WENT THROUGH MY OLD CLOSET TO SEE IF I COULD GIVE AWAY OR SELL SOME AND LOOK AT HOW MANY FUCKING STUFFED ANIMALS I HAVE
Another view of my mid-Wales cottage for sale. Check my profile for more details. Feel free to message me for more details. Have great weekend! Peter
House of Quirk Fabric Travel Toiletry Bag Organizer and Dopp Kit (16 x 10.01 x 3 cm)(Grey)
Price: (as of – Details) Product Description House of Quirk handy Travel Toiletry Bag will help to storage all basic travel personal belongings no matter you are going on weekends or all kinds of vacations, wonderful packing organizer for your every travel. Enjoy your perfect trip with House of Quirk Toiletry Bag! Rotatable Hanging Hook The rotatable hanging hook for hanging is easy to carry…
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How do I get rid of cockroaches in my apartment?
submitted by /u/Funny-Drummer-5169 [link] [comments] source https://www.reddit.com/r/Home/comments/mszpuz/cockroaches/
Track Review (4/17/2021)
What’s better than dancing your sad feelings away? Jessie Ware creates the perfect pop song for that. In her first single off of her record, What’s Your Pleasure?, Ware encapsulates the pain and longing that comes with heartbreak in the beautifully produced, disco-soaked track, “Spotlight.”
“Spotlight” opens with humming strings, accentuated by light piano. Ware’s breathy vocals float gently over the instrumentals. The song crescendos, as more strings are layered in the polyharmonic arrangement and Ware exhales “Tell me when I’ll get more / Than a dream of you,” confessing her troubles with letting a past lover go against the richly arranged instruments.
Suddenly, however, the track crashes down, grounded by a 4-on-the-floor beat. The strings and piano make way for bouncy, dark synthesizers that drive the Hi-NRG tempo of the track. Light handclaps in the back add to the lush, opulent groove of the song, and distorted, squeaky bass and light electronic harmonies complement Ware’s vocals beautifully.
Throughout “Spotlight,” Ware’s voice glides above the instrumentals. She elegantly yearns for someone who has left her, describing the emotions that have consumed her. “Do anything to make you stay / Do anything to start the day again,” Ware opines. As the chorus approaches, her vocals are layered to accentuate her longing. Her voice in the lines, “If only I could leeetttt you go / If only I could beee alooone,” drip with lushly layered harmonies, as Ware seemingly yearns for this person with every morsel of her being.
As the track proceeds, Ware convinces herself to accept her fate. “Can’t stop the sun from rising / Can’t keep the air we’re breathing / Can’t stop your heart from leaving,” she sings, acknowledging that her heartbreak is inevitable, with funky electronic sounds in the background answering her calls.
Eventually, Ware’s longing pares down to a whispery “Tell me when I get more than a dream of you.” Ware’s vocals gradually fade away and the underlying beat, synthesizers, and distorted bassline is all that’s left for you to hear.
Although Ware takes much of her inspiration from the disco movements of the past, this pop song is unlike any you’ve heard before. An amalgamation of many different types of dance genres, “Spotlight” shines the light on Ware’s talent for creating nostalgic, yet forward-thinking pop music.
A/N: Self-indulgence tbh. I really just love them.
Title: Bump in the Road
Summary: You notice something which may mean you have cancer, and Wilson’s the only one you can logically turn to.
You knew it was never wise to google symptoms. Being surrounded by doctors every day and working with your father on almost all of his cases had taught you that much. But when you’re the one with the need to search, the circumstances change a little, because nobody wants to admit they may have a medical problem, and nobody wants to go to a doctor straight away. They take up their laptop and they search.
And then things come up. Scary things. Unlikely-to-be-true things. But they get you worrying, even if you’re a doctor, even if you know better.
You sat in front of the glaringly bright laptop screen, your head in one hand, knees drawn up to your chest on the chair. You were chewing unremittingly at your bottom lip, alert eyes scanning the several tabs you had open in front of you. Terrifying words jumped out at you, words you really already knew about, and words that tossed all sorts of emotions around inside your already worked up head.
You absentmindedly reached for your mug of tea, lifting it to your lips enough to take a small sip and then holding it there in front of you while you read.
Suddenly, the darkness you’d been enshrouded in for the last half hour made way for abrupt light, and you blinked wildly for a moment, turning to the door of the hotel room. Wilson was just shutting it, bags of Chinese food hanging from his arm. “Am I interrupting some secret night meeting here?” he asked, eyebrows raised, and you sighed, taking a moment to glance at the screen again before exiting the tabs and shutting the laptop. “I got dessert from the bakery too. They had those weird carrot things you like.”
You breathed a half-hearted laugh and turned in the chair, staring a little aimlessly at nothing in particular as Wilson put the bags on the bed. You’d been staying with him at his hotel room for two days now while House and Cuddy were at an international conference. No doubt that was going swimmingly.
The hotel room was big enough, but its lack of a large table to eat at and proper ceramic plates and cutlery caused for a bit of improvisation, not that either of you were bothered. Each night, Wilson ordered your food, went out to collect it, and the both of you sat on the king-sized bed and ate out of the plastic containers with flimsy forks he’d picked up from the dollar store while they watched some show House would have switched over as soon as he lay eyes on. It’d been a nice, calm couple days, and a nice break from House, something the both of you had no trouble admitting.
Up until now, it seemed. Up until that morning, actually, after you had woken up and gone to shower, before Wilson had drove you both into the hospital. He’d noticed your distanced attitude all day, though he was still figuring it out. For as long as he’d known you and as much as he loved you, he still wasn’t the best at discerning your emotions from each other. Not as good as House, anyway. He was practically a God in the art of figuring you out.
Which was partly why he’d gone a little overboard and bought ten of those carrot things you liked.
“What were you looking at?” he asked, nodding in the direction of his closed laptop. He shrugged off his jacket as you turned to look back at it. You visibly hesitated, opening your mouth, perhaps pondering over the words that suddenly came to mind.
“Puppies,” you suddenly decided on, getting up from the chair and wrapping your dressing gown tighter around you. Wilson quirked an eyebrow, pausing for a moment when you plopped yourself down on the bed and scooted until your back hit the wall. You reached for the remote and turned the TV on, but the taut expression on your face told him you were far from happy. In fact, you seemed to be far from anything, so absorbed in absolutely nothing that you were clearly worrying.
Slowly, he hung his jacket on the hook on the door and sat at the edge of the bed, kicking off his shoes. He glanced over his shoulder. You were flicking through the channels, the crackly voices of people on the screen switching abruptly every half second. He sighed gently. “Those puppies must’ve been pretty depressing,” he said, turning and moving so he was sat beside you, his back against the headboard, legs crossed at the ankles in front of him. He interlaced his fingers on his stomach, eyes on the TV when you paused on a channel he knew you didn’t want to stay on. He turned his head to look at you, noting your knitted brows and tense jaw. “What is it?”
You bit your bottom lip, dropping the remote on the mattress below you, and Wilson reached for it to mute the TV. He waited patiently. You clearly wanted to talk to him, and though he wouldn’t push you, he wasn’t going to let you go without spilling. Not now. He watched you, his gentle eyes unrelenting yet not uncomfortable, and a moment later you turned, lifting an arm to rub between your eyes. He shifted so he was facing you more.
“If I tell you something,” you said quietly, “will you promise not to tell Dad?”
His eyebrows shot up. That was a big ask. Not simply because House was your father, but because even if he did promise and agree with that promise, no doubt House would find out anyway. “That’s dependant on a lot of things, Y/N,” he told you after a moment.
You shook your head. “I promise it- it’s not something he needs to know yet.”
You shut your eyes and balled your fist. Frustration coursed unexplainably through you. “If something comes from what I tell you, then yeah, we’ll tell Dad…” You opened them again and your shoulders slackened in defeat. “But I don’t wanna worry him.”
Wilson threw his hands in the air a little. “Well, now you’re worrying me.”
Your heart beat terribly against your ribs. It wasn’t that you were afraid or uneasy to speak with him, it was the consequences that frightened you, the fact that the things you’d googled had a possibility of being true. And it was that which caused your eyes to water and your face to flush red. Wilson frowned, twisting immediately and pulling you into his arms. “Okay, now you’re really worrying me,” he said, holding the back of your head to his chest.
“I’m sorry,” you said, squeezing your eyes shut. You were focusing on your breathing, knowing that to willingly let your tears fall would be silly, however much you were afraid. It was probably nothing.
“Hey, it’s okay.” He rubbed a hand up and down your back. “Calm down and tell me what’s wrong.”
You focused on your breathing, listening to the serene nothingness around you, and slowly pulled back. Wilson had his hands on your crossed legs, a silent comfort and reminder that he was there to listen.
“I found a, uh… something… on my ribs this morning.” You rubbed at your eyes.
Wilson blinked. “Something?”
“A lump. I think.”
Wilson sat back a little at that, the realisation coming to mind. Anyone unexpectantly finding a lump on their body is automatically going to think the worst. People are taught to think that. To expect that. Lump, tumour, radiation, chemo, hospital, tests, eventual death… all tied up in a bow with the word ‘cancer’ written on a label at the top. And it was only natural really that that would be your first thought anyway; your father was a doctor, and your father’s best friend was an oncologist. He doubted you went a day without hearing something referring to the ‘c’ word.
More importantly, if there really was a lump on your ribs, your worries were justified, and therefore so were his.
“Okay,” he said assuredly, as though the silent words ‘we’ve got this’ backed it up. “That’s okay. A lump doesn’t always mean what you think it does, alright? I’ll have a look now, and I’ll do some tests tomorrow just to double check.” He said it as though he knew it would be nothing, as though cancer wouldn’t dare go near you with him on stand-by, but he wasn’t oblivious to the fact that every person with a diagnosis of cancer had once thought the same thing.
You nodded, taking in a shaky breath. “Yeah,” you agreed. You shifted a little and untied your dressing gown. Your hands were clammy, but you pulled your shirt up until you reached the lump, glancing down almost unwillingly. Your heart leapt at the feeling. You’d almost expected it to have grown bigger than when you’d seen it that morning after showering, but it was still the same size, tiny really, right on your third or fourth rib on your right side. Still scary as shit.
Wilson moved forward, rolling up his sleeves as he went. Somehow, you felt better that you were here and not in the hospital. He was in a comfy shirt and jeans, not his white coat and tie and dress shoes. It felt like less of a serious situation, and more like when you’d fall and scrape your knee as a kid and run to him and your father. House would kiss it better and grab a band aid – who could really be surprised? – but Wilson would always dry away the tears and sit you on his lap while you calmed down. If there was anyone you felt safe enough to allow to give you potentially life-changing news, it was Wilson.
You felt his hands at your side and tried to relax as much as possible.
“Does it hurt?” he asked.
You shook your head. “Not really.”
“You notice anything else? Abdominal pain? Weight loss?”
“No. What does that mean?”
“It means...” He gently pat your side and pulled your shirt down. “I don’t think it’s cancer, Y/N.”
You let out a deep breath and visibly slumped.
“I’ll still run some tests tomorrow just to make sure, but a lump on the rib that’s related to cancer is usually sarcoma, and if it was you’d have some other symptoms.” He gave you a smile when you turned relieved eyes up at him, and opened his arms for another hug, which you readily accepted.
“What do you think it is?” you asked quietly, your head against his chest.
“Probably just a lipoma. Nothing to worry about.” He shook his head and let a breath of air waft through his nose. That had definitely not been the kind of thing he’d seen coming for this week, though the same could be said for most everything he did concerning the House family.
His eyes fell on his laptop. “You were googling,” he stated, and you made a quiet sound of amusement.
“I was worried.”
“Come to me first next time. No need to work yourself up. Google lies.”
“You sound like Dad.”
“Oh, God, heal me fast before I start limping and insulting everyone who breathes. Now, come on and eat before we both fade away.”
A Curated Workspace in Barcelona Designed by Skye Maunsell & Jordi Veciana - Creative Spaces - Aesthetics of the Everyday
Absolutely fantastic disco-inspired house track, and one of the songs that got me into house in the first place, thanks to hearing it on the Juiced soundtrack. A really upbeat song that just makes you wanna move. Enjoy!
(alt. link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vtWRqGHV9vg)