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adrieunor · 3 years

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the one where they’re married (1/?)

Fandom: The Good Place Rating: T Pairing: Michael & Eleanor Shellstrop (pseudo-Michael/Eleanor)

amnesia, married-but-not, possibly dub-con bc identity issues but nothing explicit; implied Michael reboot or judge reboot Notes: found this thing hanging out in my WIP and I don’t even remember writing it. but I had fun reading through what’s here, so I thought I’d go ahead and throw it out into the world.

Story summary: It didn’t quite top the discovery of waking up in a hospital bed with potential brain damage, but Eleanor is quite sure of one thing. She’s willing to stake money on it, no matter how out of character or divergent he is from her history:

this man is her husband.

Which, great – wow, whoa and every other questionable w-sound.

Hadn’t thought you had it in you girl, Eleanor thinks.

******************

Eleanor wakes up.

Correction: Eleanor tries.

One moment, it’s the nothingness of unconsciousness and then the sudden clarity of what’s happening? Where am I?— except her body feels like it hasn’t caught up to this decision.

She feels heavy.

All of her feels heavy. From the bottom of her feet to the crown of her head, it feels like every atom of her person has suddenly gained ten extra ounces of new weight. Not enough to be a hardship, individually, but combined together—she’s drowning, suffocated by her own eyelids and the thick, still air that doesn’t give any hint to where she seems to be.

Her eyes feel heavy – the stupid gelatinous orbs feel like they’re suspended in concrete, while her lids struggle to flutter awake.

(It’s a stupid expression, anyway, because it’s more hippos doing ballet than graceful ostriches with large feathered fans prancing across the imaginary stage of her mind.)

Fuck.

It hurts.

It feels good to be able to give a resounding f-bomb in her mind. She doesn’t know why it feels good, just that it does—it shouldn’t, though, since Eleanor has been saying fuck and other double-dog-dare-you words since she was in secondhand velcro shoes. She says “fuck” more times on the daily than her own name, certainly more times than “please” or “thank you.”

Ten seconds of consciousness has her registering how rattled her bones feel. Someone has either taken her brain and expanded it to be too big for her skull, or taken her skull and fractured it, hot gluing the pieces back to fit her brain but accidentally leaving a few behind.

“Eleanor? Are you awake?”

Trying to be.

Even in her mind, the words she wants to respond with feel slurred, fumbled by a dull tongue that’s trying to unstick from the roof of her mouth.

She’s not sure if the keening sound is just bubbling frustration and pain she’s creating in her head, or if she’s really making it. Eleanor wants to open her mouth and let her sad, animal crying out, but it seems, between the last time she was awake and now, someone’s affixed her jaw with lead, super glue, and the caramel they use to cover those cheap, green apple pops.

Eleanor settles for a whimper.

It’s the trembling of her bottom lip that makes her realize something’s brushing against her face, threaded across her nose and mouth and affixed by sticky tape on her cheeks.

Dry fingertips, warm and calloused, brush over her temple. The stray, lanky hair that had been plastered to her forehead, tickling her brow and her nose, is brushed back and tucked behind her ears.

“Hold on,” the same person says, and something clicks or beeps beside her ear. She hadn’t thought of her wrists and hands yet, had only registered them being as weighed down as the rest of her. Now, she’s minutely aware of the tender clasp around her left wrist – a dry, warm steadiness that makes her joints ache painfully.

Eleanor wants to wiggle, wants to shake, wants to fucking jerk her arms and legs about until everything pops back into feeling, but she can’t. Something from inside must be conveyed outside, some twitch or snarl of frustration, because the warm hand gently turns her wrist. Unfamiliar (familiar) fingers slide and brush against her pulse before settling into a new position: her own hand cradled in a larger one, while a thumb that’s not hers gently strokes the tops of her knuckles.

The next sound feels like a land mine detonated in a pocket of silence. A heavy door opens with the force of five hundred hangovers, followed by heels clicking sharply and smartly against a linoleum floor. Rustling fabric, a pen clicking, a folder being dropped down onto a table surface all has her wincing, as if it’s been amplified right by her fucking ear.

Her companion does not let go of her hand, but he grips it until his thumb is a firm, anxious pressure that presses on the space between her ring finger and pinky.

“Is she in pain? She looks—“

Eleanor doesn’t catch the rest of it, but the voice has only picked up in volume, a little, harried but direct. Whatever answer the new body has, she doesn't hear it.

Amidst the skull-splitting pain that pulsates from her crown down to the rest of her, like a tree suddenly struck by lighting, she registers only one thing: a dry press of lips against her fingers, solemn and unbearably present sensation, before she’s swarmed by other voices and sounds.

******************

Eleanor is only catching every fifth word that is coming out of the woman’s mouth. The ice chips had alleviated the fuzziness on her tongue, but it hadn’t fixed what was wrong in her head.

Her head.

Words like damage, injury, sustained bleeding,

The wailing in her ears had subsided, a bit, since the last time she was awake. It was now a low, thrumming pitch in the back of her mind, like a loud fluorescent light bulb in an office space. She can ignore it, after a while, but it’s there.

Other things that are very much there and present: the man.

******************

Her eyes drift towards his hand, the one that’s not holding her own – long fingers woven loosely to catch her own, between the gauze and IV line – where it rests on his knee. She's not sure what the glimmer is, at first, until she realizes it's two gold bands on one hand, a comically smaller one slipped onto his pinky.

“Ah,” her eyes drift back up of their own accord to watch the way his brows furrow, mouth open in thought, “I thought it’d be better if I kept it, in case the tests and the machines…”

His mouth purses into a thin line, which only emphasizes the ones carved into the corners of his mouth and his eyes even more – he looks like the type that would frown a lot, Eleanor thinks. He seemed like the bookish-type that would have resting bitch face while deep in thought; a heavy oak desk with a tiffany lamp and a pen tipped in gold wouldn’t be out of place in a room with him, or a really fancy fucking wall of degrees and a sharp suit.

Her shameless eyes stray towards his thin lips, the defined line of his jaw, skipping back to the worn crinkles in his skin.

There’s a lot of something to him that seems to command the presence of whatever space he occupies. The corner he occupies wraps around him like a well-tailored jacket – even in his unassuming navy and pale blue.

Well, she revises her thoughts; he looked like he might laugh a lot, too. Eleanor bets he laughs with his mouth wide open, or smiles to show nearly all his teeth.

He wasn’t laughing now, of course. Given the circumstances.

******************

He is a man-shaped absence in her memory – she of the forgetful faces and even more forgetful names has seemingly forgotten her own husband, spouse, and partner-- legally bound tax accomplice, all of the above. Michael.

He’s got a face made for

He does a funny

Oh.

It didn’t quite top the discovery of waking up in a hospital bed with potential brain damage, but Eleanor is quite sure of one thing. She’s willing to stake money on it, no matter how out of character or divergent he is from her history:

this man is her husband.

Which, great – wow, whoa and every other questionable w-sound.

Hadn’t thought you had it in you girl, Eleanor thinks. She takes another second, ten, fifteen, a minute, to look appreciatively up and down.

******************

She’s not sure if the muscles in her face contort into the expression of surprise like the light bulb that’s gone off in her head – her jaw is still a little slack and her eyes are slow to blink. He might not have noticed, in between one second and the next, how utterly thrown off she is.

******************

It doesn’t look like a fake; Eleanor has seen a lot of fake gold jewelry in her time to know the difference. It’s beautiful in the way that all the ostentatious rings she would pick for herself would not be. She keeps turning her hand this way and that, until one of the nurses asks if she's having wrist pain.

Despite protests, a tall nurse with too much arm hair pushes her in a wheelchair towards the curb where a burgundy crossover idles.

“Hopefully we won’t see you too soon,” Gary, Gerry, Gerald – or whatever – his name is, says cheerfully. She squints up at him, and he falters. Eleanor supposes that one good thing about being brain damaged was she now had a legitimate reason to forget people’s names.

******************

The good news: if she had woken up too brain damaged to remember her own name, Michael would have fixed that problem easily—it would have been two minutes, tops. She’s pretty sure he says her name more than he uses any other noun or pronoun.

(Which, by the way, the fact that she still has a basic grasp of grammar makes her, again, want to keep track for curiosity’s sake what her loopy brain has decided to keep and discard. She’d stared at the red plastic dome on her hospital plate before, after a pronounced beat, Michael had reached across and pulled the foil top off of her gelatin.)

******************

It just sounds funny – something in her brain itches like a scab underneath a cast, present but unreachable. The way he says her name. It’s been her name for over three decades, so she knows what Eleanor sounds like, usually, coming out of other people’s mouths (when they’re coming, even!). Even knows what it sounds like sung in different accents, thanks to that fucking song.

(All the lonely people, where do they all belong?

Fuck. Her brain couldn’t have erased that?)

******************

It’s not the porch that surprises her; it’s the honest-to-god porch swing, pale wicker and decorated with springtime cushions. That throws her for a loop; breaks a little part of her brain that isn’t already struggling to function.

(“This…. This broke me.”)

(Something tickles her brain, there, too, but it’s gone.)

It’s a good porch, too. The kind that doesn’t fully wrap around the house, but gives enough room for someone to day drink and – ah, there it is, the little tea table that would be beside the—the ___________. She grasps for the word, shapeless and vague. It’s blurry in her head, the thing she’s thinking about also blurry and distant. Her mouth puckers in a frown.

Michael rolls the car to a commercial perfect stop. Eleanor still jerks in her seat. He unbuckles his seat belt and bounds around to her side, opening the door before she’s even lifted a hand to pop it.

“Here, let me-“

She wonders how often she’s let him do anything, in contrast to allowing him to – her hand moves to rest on the release of the seat belt, staking territory.

Her stomach does one, two, slow flops – a fat pancake turned by an amateur line cook.

******************

She doesn’t need an entire love story’s memory to make an easy conclusion, not when Michael’s eyes sweep across her face with a slow, longing softness while his mouth twitches, again, as if it has something to say he won’t let it:

Michael is in love with her.

Eleanor thinks this should be a good thing, if they’re married, but the conclusion settles uncomfortably on top of her chest – it doesn’t sink in, doesn’t settle into a slot of rightness, and she ignores the feeling of disappointment.

Stupid of her, honestly, to think this observation was all it would take to remember why Michael is in love with her. Or how Michael is in love with her.

(What Michael is in love with.)

******************

They have a cat. She doesn’t know why this is something that trips her up, but it does. She’d nearly tripped up on it, literally, when the thing had slunk up to rub itself against her legs, making figure eights around her legs and Michael’s. Michael had nearly stepped on its tail, foot stopping just before contact as if compelled by muscle memory or a glitch in the system.

“Oh,” he hisses, fumbling with the duffel bag, complementary hospital pillow (the socks she’d decided to “wear out” as she’d joked at the nurse, wiping drool from the corner of her mouth), and reusable water bottles, in his arms, “Vicky, stop.”

“Vicky?”

She hopes she hadn't been the one to name it. Vicky sounds like a bitchy girl name, and in Eleanor Shellstrop's book of past experiences she could confirm this. Twice.

Michael gives up on trying to carry everything into …wherever, instead dumping his load onto the love seat in an adjourning room.

Her fingers trail along the table in the entryway, eyes flickering up to give the large, round mirror at eye-level a glance before she’s turning away. She’s pale as a ghost in this strange grey-blue home.

There’s a kitchen island with real, actual stools that swivel plus a wooden dining table with upholstered chairs. She wants to hiss at how excessive it is – eating a bowl of cereal over a dirty sink was enough for her for years – but she bites her tongue. A voice in the back of her head asks if maybe she had picked some of these, had selected them herself. You don’t build a home for two from only one person’s purchases.

“What would you like first, Eleanor?” His expression is hopefulness strained through a sieve. He doesn’t seem to realize how he leans towards her, curves his entire, tall being to look down at her. “Anything you want, just- just let me know. If you’re hungry, I could fix us a snack before you’re due for your next round of meds.”

It should feel annoying and towering, claustrophobic, but instead, looking upwards at him, she feels watched. Seen. It’s an uncomfortable feeling for someone who has always depended on being able to grift just under the radar, but it also isn’t unpleasant.

His hands are pressed together, fingertips touching, long and lean, like prayer.

“Can I just lay down for a bit?”

Michael’s expression softens. “Of course, Eleanor.”

And he offers his hand, palm upturned, as if the hallway was some long, arduous passage instead of a short walk towards a few doors or a climb up the stairs. Eleanor’s hands are so small in his, but his fingers wrap around hers like old acquaintances—hers have forgotten the intricacies of where to go, his have not forgotten her shape and his thumb brushes, familiar, across her knuckles like hello.

It is a warm and dry hold, and what Eleanor has managed to scrape, glean, and covertly steal in her observations about Michael all lead to the conclusion that this is a good descriptor, the most basic, for Michael himself: warm and dry, like Arizona, but the postcard worthy-parts, not the dumpster fire, trash-bag parts that made her.

At the foot of the stairs he pauses, one hand on the rail, the other holding her hand lifted in the air like a debutante. Something flickers, for a moment, and Eleanor imagines a tall, dark woman in a gown and evening gloves, of all things, poised at the foot of the stairs as if to give a toast. She blinks and the image is gone.

“You know,” Michael says, looking up. His brows furrow. “Maybe we should use the guest room downstairs instead. Avoid the stairs.”

“No,” she says, surprising herself. “I want my room.”

******************

She gives the pillow a sniff, leaning down until her nose brushes against the cotton.

Yeah. That’s her. It smells like the scent of her hair, a little to the left of unwashed and greasy. Faint, but there.

There’s stray, blonde strands of hair that curl, pale and almost invisible, in the space where the pillow had been just before—like sunny, thin worms caught only in a certain slant of light.

Eleanor is playing excavation isn’t she? She is rooting around, examining and putting together all these clues left behind for a relationship, a love; building some semblance of understanding for the ghost of a woman—is she an anthropologist? Or is this a forensic-type investigation?

Is Eleanor Shellstrop dead?

She’s here but not here—the pictures and the gold band around her finger tell her these are her memories but they’re not. Her dumb lizard brain hasn’t ______ it out yet.

Oh. Another word that’s fallen through her fingers before she’s even remembered it.

It feels wrong to roll around, smell, and sleep in someone else’s marriage bed—it’s not the first time she’s done it, but it’s never been her bed.

What other intimacies can she find just sitting in the small-person-shaped dip of this bed? She doesn’t think about the dead flakes or skin, but she breaths deeply and her body nearly lurches into that place between awake and sleep—the familiar smell of bed that can only belong to ones own so strong.

The pillows on this side are fat and soft, just the way she likes them. She knows her head would sink into an orgy of clouds if she were to flop down now. It is tempting to do exactly what she had told Michael she wanted to do.

Eleanor resists—there’s another side to explore, still.

******************

It is during one of these days, where she rolls around on the bed (their bed) like a dog left unsupervised in an empty home, that a thought strikes her. It strikes her so suddenly and with a force that she has to press the palm of her hand to her temple, eyes wincing—

Dummy.

What’s under the bed?

She’d been thorough examining the faint layers of dust coating boxes and folds of laundry on the higher shelves, where someone like Michael would keep his things, that she hadn’t thought to drop below to see where someone like her—past Eleanor, GSTGSD-Eleanor, might have hidden and holed away her own treasure.

The only thing she finds, disappointingly, is a shoe caddy with shoes as big as her head, some dust bunnies, and a laptop still charging.

******************

Vicky the cat goes downstairs into the basement on a daily basis, almost always for half an hour to one, and cries for attention. It’s a bizarre, attention-seeking, and almost resentful performance and, despite being dead ass annoying, Eleanor can relate. What a mood, right?

******************

Forgotten your password? She clicks it.

The prompt doesn’t help at all: you know it, bitch!!

What? Why would she do that to herself? Except, that is so on brand for her and Eleanor hates, hates, hates Eleanor (herself) and loves Eleanor (herself) and hates Eleanor (herself).

She scowls, flexing her fingers. Vicky takes this opportunity to leap into her lap, tail high and crooked for attention, with her unabashed asshole right in Eleanor’s face.

fuckyou! She types, exasperated; before clicking enter, she scowls and adds an extra exclamation mark for good measure—using two exclamations is just enough to push something over the edge, enough to look off balanced, but three would be too much. She wants to send the right amount of recalcitrant bastard to her past self. And if she’s only got one log-in attempt before the laptop bricks, then, fine. Fuck you, GSTGSD Eleanor Shellstrop.

The little ball whirrs for a moment, before the screen flickers, the desktop loading in seconds.

******************

end thoughts: haha okay so I haven’t watched TGP for a hot minute, not since that finale broke me. but I legit don’t recall what GSTGSD stands for (if that’s a show ref) so fuck, haha, help me out here past-adrie. if there’s interest in this I’ll continue it.

#The Good Place #The Good Place fic #hellstrop #eleanor shellstrop #Michael the good place #TGP #my fic

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hypnoshatesme · 4 years

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Sweet Nothings

[[A little extra/part 2 to Feelings Are Rarely Straightforward, but Explosions Are because people on ao3 were interested in me writing another holiday retreat and I really wanted to. Just a couple of disjointed fluffy scenes really. I guess it could work as a standalone? Might be a bit confusing. idk.]]

“Maybe it’ll continue raining for the whole of your stay,” it mumbled, sounding surprisingly clear considering its cheek was pressed against Gerry’s head.

They had arrived earlier that day, a small house in the middle of nowhere - well, not quite, the village was about fifteen minutes away - in the mountains. It had been overcast, but nice, and they had gone to explore the woods right behind the house. They didn’t make it very far before the rain had hit.

Gerry looked up from the book in his lap. “Would that be so bad? You’re not bothered by rain.”

Michael hadn’t even gotten wet, the raindrops twisting to avoid it. Even the ones that seemed to hit left no trace on it, instead changing colour and shape before disintegrating. Gerry had pretty much been soaked in seconds, despite the trees. He hadn’t minded too much. It had been soothing for the burns.

“This is your holiday," Michael mumbled, burying its face in his hair.

Gerry grinned. "And I'm already enjoying it greatly."

They were curled up on the couch, rain hitting the glass doors that lead into an unfenced garden that dissolved into woods. Gerry tried not to think too much about their position because it made no sense. He could feel Michael against him, the slight buzzing of its skin against his back. But he could also feel a distinct lack of it along his spine, where the burns were tender again after he dared to take a slightly warmer shower. Trying to imagine how it was doing it was giving him a headache and so he tried to focus extra hard on the book in his hands.

Michael sighed and rested its head on Gerry's, watching the rain hit the glass to its side. "I guess it's not too bad. If we stay like this."

“Hm, well, eventually, I will have to get up,” Gerry chuckled.

“What a shame,” it mumbled, nuzzling his damp hair. Gerry always smelled so nice after a shower. “Can you read out loud a little?” It sounded bashful asking, much like it had nearly two months ago when they were both unsure whether Gerry would find his end that week.

He smiled. “Sure.”

He read for a bit, still not quite used to hearing his own voice like that. Gerry mumbled to himself plenty so it wasn't necessarily the sound itself that was strange. It was more the awareness of being listened to, knowing that he wasn't the only one paying attention to it. Gerry still wasn't quite sure whether he liked it. But Michael was making its weird purring noise and Gerry read on.

"You should go to bed," Michael said after a while. Gerry's words were starting to run together and his eyebrows were pinched as if to bring the words into focus.

He didn't even try to argue, closing the book and leaning back with a sigh. "Sounds good." Gerry did not move to get up but pushed his glasses into his hair - and nearly into Michael's face - to rub at his eyes.

"Should I carry you?" It plucked the glasses from Gerry's hair and put them on its own head. Gerry kept forgetting they were there and then they'd fall. Michael’s hair always held on to them.

The nod that came as an answer was shy and easy to miss but Michael caught it, had been looking out for it. It was careful as it picked him up, still trying to avoid the burns while having a decent grip.

Gerry’s eyes were closed, face pressed into Michael’s shoulder. Michael didn’t really smell of anything, which was odd, and also of everything, which was even stranger. It had become Gerry’s favourite scent. He heard a door creak open.

“Are you really going to use your doors to get upstairs?,” he mumbled, amused.

Michael shrugged. “No reason not to.” It stepped through the door and a moment later Gerry found himself being gently laid on the bed.

With a sigh, he rolled onto his belly. It tended to be the most bearable position for the night, though he still tended to toss around. It would probably be worse if Michael weren’t there to keep it to a minimum. He felt it slip into bed next to him and shuffled closer, resting his head on its chest. It wrapped its arms around him carefully, avoiding touching the burns but still holding him close.

It had tried to leave Gerry alone at night, or to at least not touch him, but that only enabled him to move around a lot, reopening wounds or at least waking up with them hurting badly again. So they had settled for this and Gerry was quite happy with it. It was a comfort to have it there, to feel its fingers in his hair, on his back, its arms around him.

Gerry hadn’t managed to shake the feeling of loss, the empty space he felt where something had been before it burned away. And he knew, objectively, what that something had been and that he had been desperately trying to keep it out, to be rid of it. But still, he felt its absence keenly, especially at night where he could nearly pretend his eyes were still okay, that everything had just been a dream. It hadn’t. Having Michael there helped with accepting that. It hadn’t left even after he became not only useless, but a liability, and it still held him and made him feel like things were alright. Its staticy presence also numbed the pain a little. Gerry especially appreciated that at night.

He could still hear the rain outside as he started drifting off to sleep, with not-quite-fingers playing with his hair.

Gerry was trying to ignore the feeling of fingers stroking his face. Sleep was still there, not quite out of reach, and he didn’t feel like letting it go yet. Turning around did little, fingers combing through his hair instead. It felt nice, and he knew it had lulled him to sleep the night before, but now it was slowly waking him up.

He sighed, finally giving up and rolling onto his back. He opened his eyes to unfamiliar surroundings. The blurry colours were all wrong, browns and creams instead of the whites and blacks in his own apartment. Yellow floated into his vision, and Gerry didn’t need his glasses to recognise the subtly moving hair, the too bright eyes that were swimming together as he tried to focus on them.

“It stopped raining,” it said and Gerry sighed, throwing his arm over his eyes.

“That so?,” he mumbled, “I was enjoying sleep, to be honest.”

He could feel it coming closer, the vague staticy presence suddenly next to his face. “There’s a rainbow.”

Its voice was more focused, layers and echos minimal. It had started to try that in the morning. Gerry already woke up disoriented enough with his bad vision. Michael didn’t want to add to the creases that always appeared on his forehead in those first moments of confusion when he tried to blink sleep away only for the world to stay hazy.

Gerry smiled. “Is that what you woke me up for?”

“I also tried to make tea.”

He raised an eyebrow. Michael had started to want to make tea ever since Gerry woke up. The results had been quite mixed, and none of them had been actual tea yet. “How did it go?”

Michael considered for a moment, running a finger along Gerry’s arm. “I...think it’s edible.”

“I’m not sure if tea should be edible, Michael.” The amusement was clear in his voice.

“I didn’t break anything.”

“Progress,” Gerry laughed, uncovering his eyes with a sigh. “Fine, I’ll get up.”

He felt for his glasses on the nightstand, but Michael snatched them before he could. It put them on Gerry’s face carefully, watching as he blinked in confusion. He relaxed as things started coming into focus.

“A little warning would be nice,” he sighed.

“You just get them dirty like that.”

It was right. Gerry had already given up on keeping them clean in the little time he’d had them. It didn’t really disturb the wave of relief that went through him every time he could finally see . He was always half-expecting it to stop working, for it to get worse. But it had been a little over two weeks now and it stayed the same. His burns were healing, slowly. They still felt vaguely hot, which seemed strange. But at least it didn’t seem to be getting worse.

He dragged himself out of bed, stretching carefully. His skin still felt uncomfortably tight over his joints. But at least there was barely any actual pain by now. Michael pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Did you sleep well?”

Gerry nodded and brushed his lips against its jaw, before making his way downstairs to the kitchen. Michael followed, this time using the stairs.

The tea did not smell like anything Gerry should try consuming. It was also stuck in the mug, so he had to cut the gelatinous substance out. It was at least less solid than the last try. Probably edible in that sense, even if in no other. It wouldn’t crush his teeth if he’d try to eat it.

“It’s not hot,” Michael mumbled as it watched him, eyebrows drawn together. Last time, it had at least had the right temperature. Which had been an improvement from melting the mug the time before that.

Gerry looked at it over his shoulder, grinning at its focused expression. “Yeah, that’s one of the things that’s making this not quite tea.” He put the now empty mug in the sink and started making some drinkable tea. “Do you want some, too?”

Michael nodded. Gerry didn’t need to look at it to know the answer. Michael had become quite fond of tea. Or maybe it was a fascination with how it managed to never quite make tea when it set out to do so. Gerry was just glad it hadn’t decided to try cook food yet.

They decided to bring their tea outside, sitting on the bench next to the glass doors. It was still early, somewhat misty but already warming. Despite the light fog, the rainbow over the woods was in clear view, colours bright against the grey-blue sky.

“I thought you’d like to see it,” Michael said, wrapping its hands around its mug.

It usually spent more time just holding it, hovering its face over the warmth coming off the mug, than actually drinking it. It looked quite adorable that way and Gerry had a difficult time looking away from it and back at the colours over the greens of the trees. It did look beautiful.

Gerry leaned against it with a smile. “Thank you.”

They had decided to walk the opposite direction of the woods and had found a meadow, lush grass and colourful wildflowers. Gerry was sitting cross legged in the middle of it after having spent some time picking flowers. Michael had watched him, curious, but not daring to disturb the scene.

Gerry had looked beautiful among all the colours, black standing out strongly against the bright green of the long grass. He looked relaxed as he gently ran his fingers over the grass, walking slowly, stopping to pick the occasional flower. Michael couldn’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses, but there was an easy smile on his lips all the while. He looked happy. The sight was breathtaking. It made Michael forget it didn’t breathe.

It watched him as he sat down next to it again, flowers in his lap and it finally decided to ask, “What are you doing?”

“Trying something out,” he mumbled, not looking up from the flowers in his lap.

Michael shrugged and started running its hands through his hair. Michael was still careful about touching him, avoiding the burns the best it could. His hair, though, was safe. And Gerry always liked when it touched his hair. Michael watched the soft black strands run through its fingers. Some colour would probably look great.

“Can I have some of those flowers?”

“There’s plenty around.” He grinned, “Get your own.”

Michael sighed, but did just that. It didn’t move from its spot as it picked them and Gerry fought the urge to turn around and find the source of the cracking noises he was hearing. He knew what it was. He knew it would just give him a headache to see its body ignore all laws of physics. So he stayed focused on the flowers in his lap and got to work.

He tried to listen to Michael’s humming instead, buzzing and off-tune. Despite it sounding unpleasant, it made him comfortable. He wasn’t sure if it was just him picking up on Michael’s feelings or his own genuine opinion, but it didn’t really matter. Gerry still liked it.

Soon enough, its fingers were back in Gerry’s hair, combing through it before starting to braid it. Gerry hummed appreciatively, fighting the urge to lean into the touch. Michael grinned at that, threading some of the flowers through his hair as it continued the braid.

“Where did you learn how to braid?,” Gerry asked after a moment of comfortable silence.

It pondered for a moment, finishing up the braid. “I don’t think I did.”

“Of course,” Gerry chuckled. “Are you done? Can I turn around?”

Michael nodded taking in its work. It was a little messy, but it was quite proud of how it turned out. “Yes.”

Gerry carefully turned around to face it, holding the flower crown he’d been working on in his hands. Michael eyed it curiously.

“It’s for you.” Gerry reached up to place it on its head and it bent down slightly to make it easier.

Some yellow strands seemed to excitedly wrap around it, securing it as it straightened up again. It looked awed as it brought its fingers to gently trace the petals, it’s cheeks taking on a rather soft shade of turquoise, for its standards, freckles turning into small specks of bright purple and yellow on its face. Not for the first time, Gerry found himself wondering if it meant something.

Though, considering it was Michael, it was probably arbitrary. Maybe an expression of excitement as it radiated glee when it looked at Gerry again, eyes not just wide, but bigger, grin face-splitting. Gerry didn’t even know where the eyebrows went. It was a difficult to look at, too far away from normal to not make his head hurt a little, but Gerry still smiled. It looked happy. Or it felt happy. Whatever it was, it was infectious.

“Thank you,” it whispered, nearly reverently, and the movement of its lips made the whole picture even more nightmarish.

Gerry chuckled, but there was an edge to it. Michael forced its features back to its usual and gave him an apologetic smile. At least that’s what Gerry thought it was trying to make it be. It was hard to tell sometimes. But it didn’t really matter. It looked beautiful.

“Can I draw you?,” he blurted out.

Michael’s head tipped to the side, grinning as it noticed Gerry’s cheeks darken. “You can try.”

It was difficult. Gerry should definitely know what it looked like by now, and he did , but when it came to details they weren’t quite clear. Trying to look at it for reference, however, did not seem to actually help with that. It did hold still, unnaturally so, but the closer Gerry tried to focus on its features the more hazy they seemed. Never quite the same, sometimes clearly not as they were seconds before. The mole by its eyebrow had definitely not been there last time he had looked. He sighed, giving up.

“Are you doing that on purpose?,” he mumbled, squinting at the sketch that somehow looked surprisingly close to what he was seeing, but also not like Michael at all.

“Am I?,” it mumbled and leaned forward to take a glimpse at the sketchbook in Gerry’s hand. It give a satisfied grin. “It looks good.”

Gerry looked up. “Of course you’d be satisfied.” in a way it did perfectly capture it. Just a couple steps removed from right. Michael pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose.

"You should draw yourself. The flowers look very nice in your hair."

Gerry raised an eyebrow at that, but grinned. "Why don't you draw me?" He held out his sketchbook.

Michael drew its eyebrows together looking at it. It had expected Gerry to ask for a mirror or something. This was unexpected. Michael liked unexpected. It took the sketchbook and pen. "I...can try."

“How do you want me to sit?”

Michael shrugged. “Just whatever is comfortable to you.”

“Well, if you want to catch the braid…” Gerry rearranged his position so Michael could see his profile. He took off his sunglasses and leaned back a little, closing his eyes as he angled his face towards the sun.

Michael watched him attentively, following his every movement with its eyes. Gerry had done that earlier when he drew it. Michael didn’t exactly know what to look for, but it had a genuine excuse to watch Gerry closely and it would take it. How exactly it was supposed to transfer the view onto blank paper it didn’t know.

Michael kept getting distracted. It would look to get a better idea of the shape of his nose and it would end up just staring for so long it’d forget what it had been meant to focus on. Michael had always loved to watch the sun on Gerry’s skin in the morning through the blinds, making it look so very inviting to touch. In a way, the sun was doing the same now, except it wasn’t teasing stray rays of sunlight, but just all of Gerry that was illuminated.

He had started to look better lately, gaining colour in his face again, and the sunlight only emphasised it, making the dark circles under his eyes lighter and softening a lot of the exhaustion from restless nights. It made his face look warm and Michael’s eyes kept finding a new detail to linger on, noting how his cheekbones weren’t as prominent as they had been after he woke up again. His appetite had come back slowly, but it was definitely getting better. Michael’s eyes followed the line of his jaw, the curve of his chin, forgot that it meant to draw any of it as its gaze fell on a strand of hair that had been blown into Gerry’s face and stuck to his chapped lips.

It didn’t even notice the pen and sketchbook slipping out of its hands as it leaned forward, gently brushing the strand back behind his ear and pressing a tender kiss to the corner of his mouth. Gerry’s eyelids fluttered open in surprise, but the sun quickly made him squeeze them shut again and Michael kissed his eyelids, the bridge of his nose, his forehead and Gerry chuckled as it continued to pepper his face with kisses.

“Do you need to map out the details with your lips to get them right on paper?,” he mumbled, voice warm and fond and teasing.

Michael gently cupped his face in its hand, pulling away just long enough to mumble, “Mhm...maybe.” Gerry chuckled and it kissed his lips softly.

Gerry returned the kiss, wrapping his arms around its neck and pulling it down as he lay down in the grass. When Gerry opened his eyes again after they broke the kiss, Michael’s head was blocking the sun, the vague shape and colour of it hovering over him much as it often did in the morning. He couldn’t really make out its expression, could barely make out its features but he could feel the adoration in that weird way it always seemed to make its feelings known. Gerry was either getting better at reading it or Michael was getting better at being clear when it wanted to be.

It made it easy to picture the dreamy smile, the eyes crinkling with fondness. The idea still made Gerry blush even though Michael was little more than a blur in front of him. Michael brushed its nose along his cheek before kissing him again and Gerry closed his eyes, kissing back with a soft smile.

Gerry held another strawberry to its lips and it ate it with a satisfied grin, pressing a kiss to Gerry’s fingertips. There was really no way to tell whether the grin was because of that or the strawberry. For something that didn’t need food, Michael sure seemed to enjoy eating it. Gerry still didn’t get it.

“Can you taste it? Do you get anything out of eating normal food?”

It looked at him with what went for its thoughtful expression, that rarely ever ended in a satisfying answer to any question. “Sometimes.”

Gerry frowned, “What...does that even mean?” It shrugged and Gerry rolled his eyes. “Sometimes I really can’t tell if you’re being like this on purpose or if you can’t help it.”

Michael grinned and pressed a kiss to his temple. “Does it matter?”

“I guess not,” Gerry mumbled, burying his face in its neck. He kissed the hickey there, now months old and still looking as it had when Gerry had been done with it. As far as he understood Michael, it was a personal choice to keep it. “Are you really just going to keep this forever?”

“Maybe I’ll change its shape.” It turned into a spiral for a moment, before going back to its original shape.

Gerry laughed. "Great." His finger came to trace it, before it continued down, following the line of Michael’s neck. Michael craned its neck slightly as it made a satisfied noise and Gerry grinned. "Guess there's no reason for me to try that again," he mumbled, a teasing hint in his voice.

Michael looked at him, eyebrow raised. "Was there one for this one?"

"Curiosity," he said with a playful wink, fingers tracing the line of his throat.

It vaguely remembered Gerry asking about whether giving it a hickey would work. A grin spread on its face. "How do you know it will be the same every time?"

Knowing Michael, it would probably find ways to somehow make it work differently every single time. The very idea was exciting in itself, but Gerry was also very curious to find out what it might come up with, what it might do . Well, that one was a constant when it came to Michael, he guessed. The thrill he felt about that never seemed to subside.

Gerry hummed, pointedly thoughtful. "I guess that's a good point,” Gerry moved carefully to straddle its lap, trying to ignore the strain on his knees as he took its face in his hands, voice low when he mumbled, “I might have to reconsider." Gerry leaned in to kiss it, but the shifting only made his tender knees rub against the couch and he froze in his track, biting his lip.

Michael noticed him tensing, the short flash of pain in his eyes and it carefully helped Gerry back into a sitting position in its lap. Gerry sighed, frustrated, and leaned his head against Michael’s chest. He had to take care of the burns before even attempting to sleep tonight. He assumed the exposure to the sun was probably not helping with them healing.

Michael pressed a kiss to his hairline, mumbling, "When you're better."

A small smile tugged at Gerry’s mouth. "Sounds like a good plan." He looked up at it, "Help me with the cream?"

Michael always did, thankfully, because Gerry had no clue how he’d reach the full length of his spine without making the healing skin on his shoulders or elbows rip in protest. He still liked to ask. Michael’s voice always had a surprisingly soothing quality to it when it answered, like it was the most obvious, natural thing that it would help him with this. With everything.

It smiled as it ran its fingers through his hair. "Of course."

Gerry loved the quiet at night. He always had, had sneaked out whenever his mother brought them somewhere far from any city. He’d go outside to enjoy the calm, watch the stars. It was the closest he ever got to feeling something akin to serenity.

Michael’s head was in his lap, its legs somehow fitting on the bench even though there was no way there was enough room for them. Gerry could barely fit on it outstretched. Michael was a good head or two taller than him. But Gerry didn’t question it, running his hand through its hair as he watched the sky. It wasn’t a clear night, but there were still some stars peeking out from under passing clouds and Gerry smiled.

It was warm and the soft breeze cool, bringing the scent of pine and what seemed to be some distant music. Gerry thought he imagined it at first. But he kept hearing a faded melody, sometimes overtaken by the rustling of the leaves, but definitely there. He frowned, straining his ears to determine where it was coming from. “Do you hear that?”

Michael shifted in his lap to look up at him. “I think they’re holding some festival or something in the village.”

They had gone there once or twice to get some groceries. Michael vaguely remembered seeing people put up decorations on the houses the last time when it got bored by Gerry chatting with the cashier and started to wander ahead.

Gerry nodded, hand stilling in its hair. “Oh, right...I remember hearing about that.”

Michael sat up in one fluid motion that was jerky at the same time. “Do you want to go?”

Gerry shook his head. “No.”

They sat for a moment, listening to the music and the wind rustling in the nearby trees. It was its own melody, but added to the music somehow, Gerry thought. He turned around to face Michael, who was watching him. Michael seemed to always be watching him and Gerry should probably talk to it about that. But he just didn’t feel as bothered as he should by that habit. It was somewhat endearing. Gerry felt seen, but not in a bad way. Michael didn’t care if he could hunt Leitners or fight monsters. It looked at him . It made him feel giddy.

“Do you want to dance?” Gerry grinned, holding out his hand to it.

Michael looked at his hand for a moment before nodding and taking it, letting Gerry pull it to its feet. Michael placed its hand on his side, carefully avoiding the burns on his back. It let Gerry find a comfortable position for his hand in its own and wrapped its fingers around it loosely, not quite touching the sensitive skin. His knuckles were probably the ones taking the longest to heal. Gerry could never hold his hands still for very long.

They started swaying gently, vaguely following the soft music. Michael didn’t actually know how to dance, it simply followed Gerry’s steps, letting him pull it along as he moved. Gerry leaned his head on its chest, a soft smile on his lips. The grass was cool under his feet, the gentle breeze soothing on his skin and he let go of Michael’s hand to wrap both arms around it. Their steps were slower than the music, but it was fine. Nobody was there to judge anyways, to see.

Michael brushed its now free hand through his hair, humming along, while failing to hit a single note. Gerry chuckled, pressing his forehead against its chest. It was the rare bubbly kind that made his shoulders shake. Michael thought it lovelier than any music and it smiled.

#gerrymichael #very sweet fluff

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yama-bato · 5 years

Photo

Gerry Johansson: Halmstad, 1995, 165 x 160 mm, Silver gelatin print © Gerry Johansson

#Gerry Johansson

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tokyo-camera-style · 6 years

Link

BA: Another quote from a past interview: "Digital today looks fine, but everything is possible and the result usually comes out boring." Can you elaborate more on that thought? Do you think a limitation of possibilities can be positive in some way? GJ: I just think that a properly made black/white silver gelatin print is something astoundingly beautiful. Film and silver prints are materials you have to work along with. They are materials with characteristics you have to understand and follow. In a similar way that a sculptor chooses wood, bronze or marble. So yes, I want some resistance when I work. There are of course fine digital prints also. But the result of the digital technique often puts a ”haze” of boring perfection over the prints. With digital material everything is possible so if that is your most important goal it is perfect.

#preach it #Blake Andrews #Gerry Johansson #Photo theory

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eucanthos · 5 years

Photo

Gordon Matta-Clark (1943 - 1978)

Gordon Roberto Echaurren Matta

Bronx Floors, 1973. Gelatin silver print 27.9 x 35.2 cm

Conical Intersect, 1975. Eight photo collage by Matta-Clark

Buildings and infrastructure should be in perpetual metamorphosis by virtue of people continually acting on the space that surrounds them. A house, for instance, is definitely a fixed entity in the minds of most people. It shouldn’t be. Instead, it should bend to the needs of its community.“ -Gordon Matta-Clark: Anarchitect

#Gordon Matta Clark #sculpture #Architecture #cut #utopia #exhibition #museum

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luv-engineering · 6 years

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Groundbreaking A wide range of phenomena related to water, including anomalies, are revisited and explained through the concept of the Exclusion Zone (EZ). Very eloquent, accessible to a wide audience, yet scientifically rigorous with beautifully designed and illustrated experiments. The book has caused me to reconsider much of my current understandings of fundamental concepts such as Osmosis, 'Brownian motion', Temperature, Bubble formation, Evaporation, Cellular Function, and much more. A must for any scientist. Go to Amazon

Brilliant! What a delightfully written book. Pollack and his team have done a fantastic job of piecing together diverse data to understand what makes water work. Easy to read and understand. The drawings are easy to understand and include both experimental results in the form of scientific graphs as well as fun cartoons which make a point and entertain. The experiments they did to understand water are simple and well conceived and insightful. His information and analysis are brilliant. I highly recommend this book for anyone interested in science in general and water in particular (who isn't?). Go to Amazon

New Understandings I love this book. It;s my favorite in years! Easy to read and understand even though the subject matter is very scientific and involved. I would recommend this to anyone who likes to understand our world. Written for the lay person, too. Go to Amazon

great new thoughts I'm a big fan of Gerry Pollack and his way of thinking about water. This book doesn't disappoint. It talks about interfacial water, the water at the interface between an object and bulk water. As a biologist I kept waiting to see what sorts of behaviors we would expect in biological systems, but I also appreciated a thorough treatment of the basic chemistry involved here. FOr anyone who's willing to think differently (as all scientists SHOULD be), this is a Must Read Go to Amazon

Deserves More Than Five Stars It's no surprise that this book is currently out of stock in both soft and hard cover versions despite the fact that it is self-published. Little I can add to the numerous and varied accolades of praise, and if possible, would give it more than five stars. Go to Amazon

An absolutely fresh and remarkable analysis of phenomena that never ... An absolutely fresh and remarkable analysis of phenomena that never seemed clearly explained in the past. Why gelatin can hold the amount of water it does...or why clouds look the way they do...or Brownian movement...Pollack's book will influence the way I see the behavior of water from now on...!!! Go to Amazon

Five Stars Great book Go to Amazon

Five Stars Excellent book. Clear, fresh and powerful new insights into life, nature and Water! Go to Amazon

Five Stars Five Stars Five Stars Rogue Science that Makes Sense WATER IS LIFE Five Stars Five Stars Just read it already! Five Stars Fantastic Book!

#Engineering #book

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nitesha · 7 years

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▍NITESHA BGTP｜一書一品 ONE BOOK - ONE WORK #2 Ralph Gibson

RALPH GIBSON (b.1939-, America) Days at Sea

論及美國當代攝影，拉夫・吉布森 (Ralph Gibson, b. 1939-)是位不可忽視的指標性多產藝術家。他主要以萊卡相機拍攝，擅長捕捉難以言喻的關係層次，作品充滿豐富的視覺語言並帶有些超現實的詭秘情趣。作品中時常呈現有如異空間般的抽象情景，尤以具鮮明對比和情色描繪的黑白影像為主要創作風格。

吉布森出生於洛杉磯，1956年加入美國海軍，被派往軍艦上擔任攝影師。退役後，他進入舊金山藝術學院學習攝影，並先後擔任多蘿西・蘭格(Dorothea Lange)和羅伯特・法蘭克(Robert Frank)的助理。1970年，吉布森於紐約創辦Lustrum Press，專致於攝影集的出版。除了被喻為個人三部曲的《The Somnambulist》(1970)、《Déjà-vu》(1973)和《Days at Sea》(1974)之外，吉布森也為當時還無人知曉的拉里・克拉克 (Larry Clark, b. 1943-)出版首本個人攝影集《Tulsa》(1971) —— 拍攝60年代美國社會邊緣青年性自由、吸毒的精神世界，以及Danny Seymour《A Loud Song》(1972)、Mary Ellen Mark《Passport》(1974) 等。攝影史學家傑瑞・貝傑(Gerry Badger)於《The Photobook: A History, Vol. 1》(Phaidon, 2005. Martin Parr 合著) 中評論「1970年代美國的眾多小型攝影出版社當中，Lustrum Press可謂為最優秀的」。除了豐沛的個人創作，吉布森也為美國攝影出版開啟前衛的影像傳達模式。

此張作品來自拉夫・吉布森三部曲當中的《Days at Sea》。手工銀鹽相片、相紙尺寸11x14英吋。限量版數25，此為第9版。簽名版。作品與攝影集《Days at Sea》成套銷售，並贈攝影集《Déjà-vu》。

NITESHA BGTP ｜一書一品 One Book - One Work #2

RALPH GIBSON and the original print from Days at Sea (Lustrum Press,1974) with an additional book Déjà vu (Lustrum Press,1973).

1974 Gelatin silver print, printed later. p: 11 x 14 inch Signed, dated and numbered 9/25 in ink in the margin.

攝影集 Days at Sea｜藝術家 Artist｜詢問 Inquiry

一書一品 One Book - One Work

是二手舍於台北實驗店 NITESHA BGTP 推出的「書與原作」之策展項目。每期介紹一位藝術家，並展出一本書及書中一件原作。 One Book - One Work is a curatorial project by nitesha. Each time presents one book and one work from the book by an artist. The book and the work are showcased at NITESHA BGTP - Book Gallery Taipei.

#NITESHA BGTP #nitesha #RALPH GIBSON #One Book One Work #exhibitions

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i-am-dustyman · 7 years

Photo

Presumably this photograph of Alfred Stieglitz was taken during the period he was taking cloud studies for his "Equivalents" series.

===== Paul Strand Alfred Stieglitz, Lake George, New York 1929 (taken) 1960s (print)

Gelatin silver print 9 3/16 x 6 13/16 ins (23.4 x 17.3 cm) (image) 9 3/8 x 7 ins (23.8 x 17.8 cm) (sheet)

Philadelphia Museum of Art The Paul Strand Collection, partial and promised gift of Marguerite and Gerry Lenfest, 2009, Accession Number: 2009-160-43, © Paul Strand Archive/Aperture Foundation

LL/72365

#alfred stieglitz #paul strand #clouds #philadelphia museum of art

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lamurdiparasian · 7 years

Text

One way to create successful gelatin prints

First, give yourself a break and embrace a definition of success that serves you. Being harsh and judgmental does not help.

One example of a definition of success that serves the players is the Baseball players batting average. Can you believe that these guys get paid big bucks and to be considered good they only need a .250 batting average? That means they only need a hit 25% of the time. Let’s embrace 25% = success.

Try this:

Make 10 prints with just a couple stencils and stamping tools

Use paper that you feel comfortable “wasting”

See if you get 2 or 3 out of ten that you really like

I am betting that this environment and expectation will create success for you.

Another Idea:

One approach that I have with those 8 less than successful prints is that

I come back to them on another day

I work into them with just a few marks or

I completely work over them

This really gives the prints new life and raises my “batting average” to .500.

By limiting your tools you:

help create a cohesive composition

creating boundaries for discovery and success

eliminating chaos and confusion

So in the prints above I used a fern, the fishing stencil and 4 or so stamping tools.

If you would like more support in creating success with gelatin printmaking, then join us in this year’s session of Make Monotypes. This printmaking workshop starts May 15th and registration is open now. Check out the details on the printmaking workshop page.

One student’s experience in Make Monotypes – I wanted to take this class for quite a while, but as I had already experimented a fair bit with a gel plate, I wasn’t sure how much I’d learn.

My friend, a bookbinding instructor took the class a while back, and spoke very highly of it. She really enjoyed it and learned a lot. And I had seen some of her prints that she incorporated into her bookmaking projects.

I’m very glad I took the course – it was exactly what I wanted- it encouraged me to use my own images and experiment with found objects and stencils/masks I created myself.

So many other books, videos and blog posts focused on use of commercial stencils and other products. I really appreciate that this course focuses on finding or making one’s own tools!

Gerry McG.

The post One way to create successful gelatin prints appeared first on Linda Germain.

from Linda Germain http://www.lindagermain.com/2017/05/one-way-create-successful-gelatin-prints/ All about prints from Blogger http://lamurdis.blogspot.com/2017/05/one-way-to-create-successful-gelatin.html

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healthandfitnessrecipes-blog · 6 years

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Organic Egg Farmer Wages War on 'Health' Agency

https://healthandfitnessrecipes.com/?p=9080

By Dr. Mercola

Jesse Laflamme, chief executive officer of America's No. 2 egg brand, Pete and Gerry's Organic Eggs, is asking tough questions about how the U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA) sets its food labeling rules.

After filing a 17-page citizen's petition with the FDA in April 2018, Laflamme took to his company's blog to make his point.1 Beneath photos of four food items, Laflamme posed this question: "Which of the following does the FDA consider 'healthy'?"

The three so-called healthy choices noted were fat-free chocolate pudding, low-fat toaster pastries and sugary cereal — all of which the FDA considers to be good for you simply because they contain a few beneficial nutrients.

Surprisingly, the fourth food item featured — organic eggs, a completely natural product — does not meet the FDA's standards for application of the word "healthy."

Laflamme, who is passionate about saving his family's third-generation egg farm from bankruptcy, is urging the FDA to reconsider its labeling rules to allow egg companies like his to add the word "healthy" to their products as a means of educating consumers — some of whom still believe eating eggs is bad for you.

If you think the FDA has your best interests in mind when it comes to food labeling, you may want to keep reading. The system regulating food labeling in the U.S. clearly is broken and it's clear eggs are a healthy food. Here's why.

The Puzzling Inconsistencies of Food Labeling

The basis of Laflamme's petition centers on the apparent inconsistencies noticeable in how the word "healthy" is applied to various foods under the umbrella of oversight provided by the FDA. About these inconsistencies, Inc. magazine asserts:2

"The FDA has strict rules governing food labels' nutrient content claims, but it also broadcasts puzzling inconsistencies. For example, the agency says an egg has too much fat, saturated fat and cholesterol to be considered healthy, but seemingly bad-for-you foods like low-fat pudding, which may be rich in potassium, calcium, iron and vitamin D are considered healthy."

The agency announced plans in September 2016 to change its rules related to what it deems healthy, but has been slow to act or comment publicly about the status of its efforts. In the meantime, Laflamme and others are growing impatient with the delays.

He says, "It's so antiquated and out of touch. The idea that a toaster pastry — a Pop Tart — is healthy or that Jell-O is healthy is crazy ... We know we are shortchanging ourselves by not being able to say eggs are healthy … [I]t's time to fight back."3

The FDA has up to 180 days to respond to Pete and Gerry's petition and nothing has come of it yet. A CBS television affiliate in Boston that was in contact with the agency says an FDA spokesperson told them, "[T]he agency is reviewing nutrition science data and public input as it considers modernizing the criteria for the term 'healthy'."4

Laflamme wants the FDA to change its ways because he believes an updated label is needed to dispel outdated and misleading information about eggs. After all, he says, "A whole generation grew up being told eggs were harmful."5

How Can Chocolate Pudding and Toaster Pastries Be Considered Healthy?

On the company's blog, Laflamme notes the apparent discrepancy related to the treatment of eggs as compared to the FDA's handling of products long considered to be junk food. Says Laflamme:6

"Toaster pastries (Pop-Tarts), flavored gelatin (Jell-O) and fat-free chocolate pudding are all considered 'healthy' products, while eggs are not. That seems like a ridiculous notion … But, believe it or not, that is what the FDA says on the matter.

Those products may use … 'healthy' in reference to their products and Pete and Gerry's Organic Eggs cannot, despite ample evidence to the contrary. We are hopeful that with the advances in nutrition science and understanding … the FDA will issue new guidance on eggs."

The company enlisted the support of registered dietician and nationally recognized healthy living expert Keri Glassman in its efforts to petition to the FDA.

"It is long overdue that eggs be restored to their proper place in the American diet," says Glassman. "It's one of the best sources of natural, nutrient-dense protein you can find, to say nothing of its convenience and flexibility as a food."7

Given the skyrocketing rates of unhealthy eating and obesity in the U.S., Laflamme believes consumers are "waking up" and beginning to educate themselves about the nutritional value of the foods they eat.

"The result has been a move away from processed, artificial foods in favor of simple, whole foods such as vegetables, fruits, whole grains and natural proteins — like eggs," notes Laflamme. "We believe by pushing the FDA on this out-of-date definition, we can help drive this healthy eating trend forward."8

Glassman calls the FDA rules "outdated and misleading," encouraging Americans to eat more nutrient-dense whole foods like avocados and wild-caught salmon, as well as organic, free-range eggs, mainly because they are healthy additions to any diet.

"Americans should be eating more of [these foods] as well as be encouraged to avoid sugar-packed, processed foods that are filled with unhealthy ingredients, but can still be labeled as 'healthy,'" she says.9

A Great Source of Choline: Why Eggs Are a Healthy Choice

While the consumption of chicken as a source of meat protein has become popularized in recent decades, eggs have become unfairly vilified, in part because of misconceptions regarding their cholesterol content. In reality, eggs, particularly the yolks, provide important vitamins such as A, D, E and K, as well as antioxidants and essential omega-3 fats.

Eggs are also one of the best sources of choline available. Choline helps keep your cell membranes functioning properly, plays a role in nerve communications and prevents the buildup of homocysteine in your blood, which is good because elevated levels are linked to heart disease. Choline also helps reduce chronic inflammation.

This vital nutrient is also prized because it enables your body to make the brain chemical acetylcholine, which is involved in storing memories. In pregnant women, choline plays an equally, if not more, important role, helping to prevent certain birth defects such as spina bifida, while also playing a role in your baby's brain development.

According to a study published in the journal Nutrients, only 8 percent of U.S. adults are getting enough choline — including only 8.5 percent of pregnant women.10

Among egg consumers, however, more than 57 percent meet the adequate intake levels for choline, compared to just 2.4 percent of people who do not consume eggs. Based on the outcomes, the study authors concluded, "This research illustrates that it is extremely difficult to achieve the adequate intake for choline without consuming eggs or taking a dietary supplement."11

Some of the symptoms associated with low choline levels include lethargy, memory problems and persistent brain fog. Because your body can only synthesize small amounts of this nutrient, you must get it from your diet on a regular basis. One egg yolk contains nearly 215 milligrams (mg) of choline.

More Good Reasons to Eat Eggs

Beyond the presence of choline, egg yolks are good for you because they're rich in the antioxidant carotenoids lutein and zeaxanthin, which are well-known to support healthy vision. In addition, egg yolks are an excellent source of healthy fat and contain about 6 grams of protein.

While you can buy eggs at nearly any market or convenience store, if you want a healthy egg you'll want to purchase only organic, free-range, pastured eggs. Why? Because they are far superior than other types when it comes to nutrient content.

I advise against eating conventionally raised eggs mainly because they are far more likely to be contaminated with disease-causing bacteria such as Salmonella.

You can usually tell if your eggs are pastured simply by checking the color of the egg yolk. Hens that forage for their food produce eggs with noticeably bright orange yolks. In contrast, the presence of dull, pale yellow yolks is a sign your eggs were sourced from caged hens that are most likely fed an unnatural diet.

What About Cholesterol?

If you are middle aged or older, it's possible you may still harbor misconceptions about eggs and cholesterol. After all, for decades, the American public was told that eggs, as a source of cholesterol and saturated fats, promote heart disease. In a 2015 study titled "The 50-Year Rehabilitation of the Egg," the journal Nutrients credits the American Heart Association with promoting the mistaken guidance about eggs and cholesterol, stating:12

"The 1968 American Heart Association announced a dietary recommendation that all individuals consume less than 300 mg of dietary cholesterol per day and no more than three whole eggs per week.

This recommendation has not only significantly impacted the dietary patterns of the population, but also resulted in the public limiting a highly nutritious and affordable source of high-quality nutrients.

The egg industry addressed the egg issue with research documenting the minimal effect of egg intake on plasma lipoprotein levels, as well as research verifying the importance of egg nutrients in a variety of issues related to health promotion. In 2015, dietary cholesterol and egg restrictions have been dropped by most health promotion agencies worldwide."

While it's true fats from animal sources contain cholesterol, it is not necessarily harmful. In recent years, studies have clearly shown eggs — particularly egg yolks — to be one of the healthiest foods you can eat. Even though egg yolks are relatively high in cholesterol, numerous studies have confirmed eggs have virtually nothing to do with raising your cholesterol. About this, NPR comments:13

"[E]ating cholesterol can raise levels of it in the blood, but, as a growing body of research has shown, not by that much. Consuming sugar, trans fats or excessive saturated fat (from unhealthy sources) can be more harmful to cholesterol levels than dietary cholesterol itself.

Most of the cholesterol in our bodies we make ourselves in the liver, and total body levels are heavily influenced by genetics, gender and age. As more and more research suggests that some degree of cholesterol consumption is harmless, if not healthy, the egg's reputation is gradually returning."

Final Thoughts About Eggs, the Petition and the FDA

The bottom line is eggs are indeed a healthy food. The guidance provided by the FDA is outdated and practically absurd. You and I can recognize that adding vitamins to sugary cereal and highlighting the calcium content of chocolate pudding as a means of promoting them as "healthy" is ridiculous.

If the FDA classifies a wide array of junk food as healthy, then eggs most certainly deserve the same label. As mentioned, when produced by healthy, foraging hens, eggs are a natural food and one that is packed with health-boosting vitamins and minerals.

The folks at Pete and Gerry's Organic Eggs are correct in demanding more from the FDA. Anyone producing organic, free-range eggs should be able to apply the word "healthy" to their product labels. About the disconnect with respect to FDA labeling for eggs, Laflamme states:14

"While nutrition experts recognize eggs as a nutritious food, many would probably be surprised to learn that federal regulations prohibit the use of the word 'healthy' to describe eggs.

Our goal with this petition is to encourage the FDA to bring outdated regulations in line with current nutritional science and general consumer awareness, and thereby help shoppers make more informed choices in the grocery store aisle."

No matter what the FDA says, if you are able to tolerate them and have a reputable source from which to obtain high-quality organic ones, you'd be wise to remember: Eggs are healthy and it's OK to eat them.

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yama-bato · 5 years

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#Gerry Johansson

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lopezdorothy70-blog · 6 years

Text

Organic Egg Farmer Wages War on 'Health' Agency

youtube

By Dr. Mercola

The three so-called healthy choices noted were fat-free chocolate pudding, low-fat toaster pastries and sugary cereal - all of which the FDA considers to be good for you simply because they contain a few beneficial nutrients.

Surprisingly, the fourth food item featured - organic eggs, a completely natural product - does not meet the FDA's standards for application of the word "healthy."

Laflamme, who is passionate about saving his family's third-generation egg farm from bankruptcy, is urging the FDA to reconsider its labeling rules to allow egg companies like his to add the word "healthy" to their products as a means of educating consumers - some of whom still believe eating eggs is bad for you.

The Puzzling Inconsistencies of Food Labeling

youtube

He says, "It's so antiquated and out of touch. The idea that a toaster pastry - a Pop Tart - is healthy or that Jell-O is healthy is crazy ... We know we are shortchanging ourselves by not being able to say eggs are healthy … [I]t's time to fight back."3

How Can Chocolate Pudding and Toaster Pastries Be Considered Healthy?

On the company's blog, Laflamme notes the apparent discrepancy related to the treatment of eggs as compared to the FDA's handling of products long considered to be junk food. Says Laflamme:6

The company enlisted the support of registered dietician and nationally recognized healthy living expert Keri Glassman in its efforts to petition to the FDA.

"The result has been a move away from processed, artificial foods in favor of simple, whole foods such as vegetables, fruits, whole grains and natural proteins - like eggs," notes Laflamme. "We believe by pushing the FDA on this out-of-date definition, we can help drive this healthy eating trend forward."8

A Great Source of Choline: Why Eggs Are a Healthy Choice

According to a study published in the journal Nutrients, only 8 percent of U.S. adults are getting enough choline - including only 8.5 percent of pregnant women.10

More Good Reasons to Eat Eggs

I advise against eating conventionally raised eggs mainly because they are far more likely to be contaminated with disease-causing bacteria such as Salmonella.

What About Cholesterol?

"The 1968 American Heart Association announced a dietary recommendation that all individuals consume less than 300 mg of dietary cholesterol per day and no more than three whole eggs per week.

While it's true fats from animal sources contain cholesterol, it is not necessarily harmful. In recent years, studies have clearly shown eggs - particularly egg yolks - to be one of the healthiest foods you can eat. Even though egg yolks are relatively high in cholesterol, numerous studies have confirmed eggs have virtually nothing to do with raising your cholesterol. About this, NPR comments:13

Final Thoughts About Eggs, the Petition and the FDA

"While nutrition experts recognize eggs as a nutritious food, many would probably be surprised to learn that federal regulations prohibit the use of the word 'healthy' to describe eggs.

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jakehglover · 6 years

Text

Organic Egg Farmer Wages War on 'Health' Agency

youtube

By Dr. Mercola

Surprisingly, the fourth food item featured — organic eggs, a completely natural product — does not meet the FDA's standards for application of the word "healthy."

The Puzzling Inconsistencies of Food Labeling

youtube

How Can Chocolate Pudding and Toaster Pastries Be Considered Healthy?

On the company's blog, Laflamme notes the apparent discrepancy related to the treatment of eggs as compared to the FDA's handling of products long considered to be junk food. Says Laflamme:6

The company enlisted the support of registered dietician and nationally recognized healthy living expert Keri Glassman in its efforts to petition to the FDA.

A Great Source of Choline: Why Eggs Are a Healthy Choice

According to a study published in the journal Nutrients, only 8 percent of U.S. adults are getting enough choline — including only 8.5 percent of pregnant women.10

More Good Reasons to Eat Eggs

I advise against eating conventionally raised eggs mainly because they are far more likely to be contaminated with disease-causing bacteria such as Salmonella.

What About Cholesterol?

"The 1968 American Heart Association announced a dietary recommendation that all individuals consume less than 300 mg of dietary cholesterol per day and no more than three whole eggs per week.

Final Thoughts About Eggs, the Petition and the FDA

"While nutrition experts recognize eggs as a nutritious food, many would probably be surprised to learn that federal regulations prohibit the use of the word 'healthy' to describe eggs.

from HealthyLife via Jake Glover on Inoreader http://articles.mercola.com/sites/articles/archive/2018/08/13/why-organic-eggs-are-good-for-you.aspx

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