Sims player fourteen generation deep into a legacy. Here's their story! Also, art and builds.
Did I mention we are spending our New Year’s Eve party at Gram’s house? The old family house never disappoints, quirky yet majestic, and of course, aptly decorated for the season and the occasion. The thin coat of snow is so perfect I could have thought Gram had layered it herself.
Gram also won’t divulge if she had any help in setting up such a dreamlike atmosphere. I sure hope her thousand-year-old butt didn’t drag those nutcrackers statues outside on her own.
Isn’t she cold?
New Year’s Eve — and Spring’s first day — is just around the corner. This might be our last chance to get a few more snowpals in… So all afternoon long, any neighbour looking out their window would see the complete Stewarts family outside, playing in front of our house, assembling snow and accessories.
And I’m pleased to report my very last snowpal of the year is a success! I think they call this personal growth.
So Dad’s idea of emotional support was an evening at the Newcrest pub. He tried to pass his sudden need for a cold pressure beer and a game of darts he would lose as “introducing me to the place his and mom’s friends celebrated their 18th birthday”. Oh, Dad, I know you so much better than that.
At some point of the evening, without looking at me, he finally articulated what he’d really wanted the father-daughter moment to be about. He told me, whatever happened, he was proud of me. Then he messed up his dart throw.
I just went in to hug him.
So the first few days after Winterfest were a disaster for me. But I’m pleased to report, my brother was enjoying his gardening kit immensely. For weeks no one could pass through the entry hall without a whiff of fresh roses, or whatever scented flower he more or less managed to grow. He took it at heart, observing, and researching, and making us all wholeheartedly believe this was a career in the making.
Unlike his older sister, who had lost hers.
This is under construction. I’m afraid it won’t like the amount of pictures I’m trying to import from tumblr as I’m on the free plan, but I’ve been thinking about creating a website for my art and commissions eventually anyway, so maybe that’s what this will be instead. Here goes nothing!
I’m crawling out of my non-posting abyss (Hi, how are y’all doing, my mental health is a joke) to yell along everybody else about Tumblr, their stupid decisions, and their even more stupid bot.
Does anyone know how to see all of your flagged posts at once? I don’t feel like scrolling down for the sporadic flag, it’s already driving me insane.
Pretty sure I’ll be opening accounts on alternative websites soon.
Oh Tumblr what is you doing
… One last goodbye to the relics I brought to the museum. We had a great time, old friends.
Let Go
It’s cold outside, but I’ve missed the food stalls too much, and the sky is clear and bright, so I decide to go eat in the museum’s gardens.
For a minute there, I think this might be a perfectly amazing day after all. I have a nice chat with the colleagues, who actually look happy to see me, and maybe, with the new year, will come new horizons?
Yeah, no. Royal approaches, and the colleagues scatter like a disturbed swarm of flies. And right there, right then…
I get fired.
Cluttered Office
Welcome to my office at the museum! It’s underground, and no one bothers me here, including when it comes to letting me live in the mess that I deem necessary to my workflow.
Boxes upon boxes filled with styrofoam beads and whatever artifact me and some other museum are sending to one another; piles of books taller than my respect for some of my coworkers; portraits of long forgotten people by some talented but anonymous artists I aim to learn more about; replicas of statues from my travels — or sometimes, the original thing… If I had to list everything, we’d still be here by New Year’s Eve, next year.
The most important thing about it is, it’s warm, it’s mine, it’s my safe haven, and I enjoy working there.
Snow on the Museum
And here we are… the Windenburg Museum. Used to be my favorite place in the world, and even now, sick with anxiety, I have to stop and marvel at its beauty under the layer of snow the blizzard has left behind. It’s still snowing, but here in Windenburg, the snow is now delicate, soft, magical.
For a minute I forget all about being anxious and everything is perfect again. How can you not feel at peace in such a landscape?
The Stewarts Family (and other shenanigans) 