#bell-ringing

In Issue #24, the MKSystem got trapped in a dreamworld where they got everything they wanted. Their personal definitions of a happy ending. Marc's dream was that he married Marlene, happy father for Diatrice, got along well with his family and throwing a joyful barbeque together. Super freakin' sweet. Steven, meanwhile, has a whole manor to himself and he has Marlene by his side. Marc has a whole thing about Steven wanting "a life without him," but that's for later. That's for later, because. Fuck. Can I talk about Jake Lockley.

... So this is personally wild to me because I've seen this panel shared around a lot (I've reblogged this panel a lot) but never actually knew the context behind it, but now. Holy shit.

Listen. Jake's definition of a happy ending — the thing he wants most — is to throw the biggest party so that the people he cares about can be safe. The one he always wanted to throw, those are his words. They've got food and drinks and they're warm and they're safe and having a good time, and the speaker only plays good music. He wants to take care of people. That's actually his biggest dream, to the point that he's passionate enough about it that it shows up in the dreamworld that's supposed to manifest his most wanted desires.

In the past, I would consider myself a powerhouse—I'd make food, on the daily, to bring to the table. Still a beginner of the craft, a young spark, but it was determined to find a place to belong. I'd wait and watch patiently for someone to try a nibble, and soak up all the affirmations of "I love your food, this is great, you should make more!"—Like a lifeline. A reason to keep going. In the periods where I'd put this food out, get none of these comments, I'd spiral into a web of doubt: Did they not like it? Was the food stale? Did I drop in quality? (Multiple times, thought, "what's the purpose of bringing food to the table if no one's gonna tell me what they think?")

I've taken a more laid-back approach to potlucks now. I'd show up, place the food, and while I do wait to see if anyone approaches it, I don't linger too long. I've realized that, over the years of cooking, of sharing, my quality has improved drastically—to the point where I can say I'm happy with the taste of what I created. Realized, as well, that I couldn't have gone this far without all the kind people that affirmed me, every step of the way. Clung on to it like a lifeline, maybe, but it came at a time where the lifeline was needed, where I was vulnerable, and in the end, I didn't sink when I easily could've. If anything, that encourages me to do the same to others—so easily, fellow creatives can fall into a state of sinking, the spiral that nothing they create is worth, and the last thing I'd want to happen is sit there and do nothing to at least prevent that from happening.

I try to engage with the potluck more now. I eat other people's food, find its best qualities, and tell them about it. My goal is to do this on and on until it someday becomes a habit. Simultaneously, I realized how I don't need to cling so tightly to that lifeline anymore to continue creating. Putting food on the table is a communal sharing activity, yes, but I've found other ways to get that hit: carving a space for myself, visiting multiple potlucks instead of just one, putting different things for the same potlucks or even just enjoying the food myself.

To a certain extent, I've come to peace—peace with the fact that even if you may never know the impact of what you bring to others, there's at least comfort in knowing that you've gradually gotten better at what you create. That there are many different outlets. People having different food preferences, or people preferring to enjoy their food quietly, isn't an indicator that yours is bad. But, despite it all, I strive to keep engaging with what others bring to the table. I try to leave comments. I try to not stop creating. Because while I may never know how my comments or the act of sharing my craft may affect others in their own journey, it certainly encourages a younger me to keep going, and hopefully in this, I can return the favour.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s) Characters: Maglor | Makalaurë, Indis (Tolkien), Noldo | Noldor Additional Tags: Cross-cultural, Implied Elwing, background Eärendil/Elwing, Implied Vanyar Summary:

look. look! there are a lot of dangerous bell situations you can get into! even the smallest church bells are still several hundredweight, so that’s several hundred pounds of metal you’re trying to control.

like, okay, batbetbitbotbut mentioned the issue with full vertical ringing is that you don’t want to break the stay, which is the bit of wood that prevents the bell from just going round and round and round and round and ROUND AND ROUND until it has exhausted all its kinetic energy. you go round one rotation, stop the bell just before it reaches the stay, rotate back the other way, stop the bell, etc etc etc. it works well. you don’t die. you control the bell.

but the stay is just a piece of wood up in a church tower; eventually, even if you’re a perfect ringer and never ever tap the stay when you’re ringing (that’s why you stop just before you reach the stay, so you’re not wearing the wood out faster), it will break. when that happens, the first thing you learn when you’re ringing is that you let go. you let go of the damn rope, you let it go up into the ceiling, you look ashamed and awkward while everyone else stops ringing and figures out what to do. otherwise, that rope is climbing towards the ceiling with all the stored energy of a several-hundred-pound bell and it will take it with you.

this is why, by the way, your belfry ceiling should be low. I learned at my grandmother’s church - and I should say, I was never more than a learner; I didn’t visit my grandmother often enough to get good, and I could only ring occasionally at my own church because I would’ve needed to be in the belfry ringing at the same time as I was getting robed up for the choir - but at her church, the belfry ceiling was maybe seven feet at most. it was a small room, and the holes which the rope disappeared through were sometimes unsettlingly near, but when someone broke a stay, or had any other misfortune, at worst they would have been dragged up a couple of feet and slammed into the ceiling. you should still let go, but that’s a good precaution.

now, at my church, the belfry ceiling was far distant. I think it was actually the floor of the room that the bells were housed in, and it was, god, it was so high that I cannot even estimate it. look at a church tower. divide it in half. yeah, maybe that high.

so, obviously trying to perfectly control the ropes up that height was a problem, so they’d put in a sort of metal framework; little circles where the ropes should go through, and a few struts connecting each circle.

first off, obviously, if you break a stay and don’t let go, you’re in trouble. at the very best, you’re hitting the metal frame ten, twenty feet above you. if you don’t manage to stop then... well. up the tower you go. it wasn’t safe. I didn’t like it.

the other thing about this setup was that, as I was always a learner, I was often having some amount of trouble controlling the bell. as I’ve said a lot, it’s several hundred pounds of bell, and the ringing system is set up so that you personally are not moving all several hundred pounds, because we’re not weightlifters. what this does mean is that you have to be really in tune with everything else in the mechanism, or you’ll lose control of the bell as it starts swinging to its own tune.

now, that’s possible in all places. I’ve lost control at my grandmother’s church enough! but there, well, the rope is going through a small hole in the ceiling seven feet up, and then it’s going through more rooms and more small holes and... you get the idea. even if you fuck up - and you can and will - it’s a lot easier to recover there.

I love how Reese tries to get Soldier to loosen his guard and invites him to step out of his shell (as seen by her trying to take him to a party and just dance, live a little) but she's not forcing him to change, just introducing him to new outlets that may or may not be entertaining or joyful for him, and lets him try them out. Reese sees Soldier beyond his role of following orders and tries to introduce things outside of work as suggestions, just as she views all the others in the Midnight Mission.

I love how Soldier, because he never changes from being a soldier that always carries orders, assists Reese by being her second-hand, would and has literally take a bullet for her, has 100% confidence in her ability to lead the Midnight Mission and is very comfortable in his own role just being a constant supporter because he knows that Reese would make them thrive.