#nonagenarian

[thoughtportal]

Mieko's Island - Through The Kitchen Window

Learn more about food in Japan on NHK WORLD-JAPAN!https://www3.nhk.or.jp/nhkworld/en/ondemand/category/17/?cid=wohk-yt-2311-ttkw957-hpMore q

Nonagenarian Mizumoto Mieko runs a restaurant on the island of Tokunoshima, serving home-cooked meals made with locally sourced ingredients.

[dannyreviews]

Cinema Legends Over 100 Years Old Still Alive (as of 1/1/2024)

A few days late here, but here are the century old survivors of film in 2024.

Norman Spencer - producer (b. 1914) + 8/16/2024

María Cristina Camilo - actress (b. 1917)

Caren Marsh Doll - dancer, actress (b. 1919) + 11/8/2024

Betty Brodel - singer, actress (b. 1919) + 3/3/2024

June Spencer - actress (b. 1919)

Maj-Britt Håkansson - actress (b. 1919)

Eileen Bennett - actress (b. 1919)

Arnold Yarrow - actor (b. 1920) + 12/9/2024

Juan Mariné - cinematographer (b. 1920)

Robert Marcy - actor (b. 1920) + 9/8/2024

Francis Rigaud - director (b. 1920)

Patricia Wright - actress (b. 1921)

Jack Rader - actor (b. 1921)

Beulah Garrick - actress (b. 1921)

Barbra Fuller - actress (b. 1921) + 5/15/2024

Edgar Morin - director, screenwriter, philosopher (b. 1921)

Elisabeth Kirby - actress (b. 1921)

Elizabeth Kelly - actress (b. 1921)

Georg Stefan Troller - director, screenwriter (b. 1921)

Ray Lawler - playwright, screenwriter (b. 1921) + 7/27/2024

Joe Caroff - film poster artist (b. 1921)

Ray Anthony - musician, actor (b. 1922)

Micheline Presle - actress (b. 1922) + 2/21/2024

Janis Paige - actress (b. 1922) + 6/3/2024

Jacqueline White - actress (b. 1922)

Annette Warren - singer, actress (b. 1922)

Helen Colvig - costume designer (b. 1922)

Sara Luzita - dancer, actress (b. 1922)

Annabel Maule - actress (b. 1922)

George Morrison - director (b. 1922)

Stella Greka - singer, actress (b. 1922)

Bess Meisler - actress (b. 1922)

Aram Boyajian - editor, producer, director (b. 1922)

Alexandra Myskova - actress (b. 1922)

Virginia Fleener - animator (b. 1922)

Manos Zacharias - director (b. 1922)

Vincent Ball - actor (b. 1923)

Ralph Senensky - director (b. 1923)

Johnny Pate - film composer (b. 1923)

Phil Nimmons - film composer (b. 1923) + 4/5/3024

Vera Linnecar - director, animator (b. 1923)

Enid Wizig - animator (b. 1923)

Jozef Hen - screenwriter, director (b. 1923)

Kim Yaroshevskaya - actress (b. 1923)

Ruth Geller - actress (b. 1923)

Paul Harding - actor (b. 1923)

David D. Osborn - screenwriter (b. 1923)

David Lawton - actor (b. 1923)

Adeline Leonard Seakwood - production coordinator (b. 1923)

[waynelvslcy]

Happy 97th Birthday to Peter Marshall! Peter worked with Lucy twice on television, once on 'The Lucy Show' (Lucy's Sister Pays A Visit) in 1963, and again in 1974 on 'Happy Anniversary And Goodbye'. He nearly turned down the role in the 1974 special because he had a very negative experience working on TLS a decade earlier, until he learned that most of his scenes would be played with Art Carney. Of his TLS appearance he complained that he was getting contradictory stage direction from all sides: the director, Lucy and even Vivian. In 'The Lucy Book' by Geoffrey Mark Fidelman, Peter remembers what it was like to work on 'Happy Anniversary And Goodbye'..."We were doing the first read through of the script, and Lucille Ball turns to Art Carney and says, "Have you ever done comedy before? Where did you get those line readings?" Carney quit right there and then. The next day, Nanette (Fabray) and I had lunch with Art and talked him out of it. Yet another day goes by, and now Nanette gets it from Lucy and she quits! It takes still another lunch to get them both to get back to work and finish the show. And yet, whatever Lucille Ball did, she was phenomenal." #lucilleball #vivianvance #petermarshall #hollywoodsquares #nanettefabray #artcarney #roughdayattheoffice #actors #happybirthday #nonagenarian #iquit #waynelvslcy #thelucyshow https://www.instagram.com/p/CqaluVTO6P8/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[fair-fae]

FFxivWrite Entry #7: Nonagenarian

FFxivWrite 2020 Prompt #7: Nonagenarian At the age of thirty-one, Lady Covington could still by all accounts be called youthful, hale and lovely as she was, but as she peered into the mirror, that didn’t stop the hands of time nor slow the inescapable effects of aging. Fine lines had long since begun to form beneath her eyes despite the best efforts of any anti-aging creams, and with her days of adventuring left behind in her youth, traded for tea and pastries, a few extra ponze settled onto the softness of her figure. Of course, it was not just her vanity that perturbed her, not even just the slow decline of one’s health and mind as their body began to fail them. She thought of her grandparents, nothing more than fuzzy, fleeting memories from childhood. Death was the end of all things. All one’s goals and thoughts and dreams and aspirations gone so abruptly, unfinished business left forever that way. There was so much she wanted to accomplish, and so little time. Was one lifetime even enough? Surely not. She hated the thought of having to settle for anything less than success. Death could strike at any time, she knew all too well, which only made its inevitably all the more looming and suffocating with each passing sun. Every cycle that passed was another closer to the end, and another year of youth wasted to slow her progress in a cruel irony. That is, if the Voidsent blood tainting her veins didn’t slow or stop the effects of aging and even death, like it had done for those such as Shadiyah. Melfice had mentioned that longevity of life was one of the benefits Nuvozor’s Chosen had studied in their research of how they might use the properties of the Void and its denizens for their own gain. Perhaps Liliana would have the answers? Faye had many questions she’d like to ask her, but she’d already burned that bridge. Or, at the very least, she’d done enough damage to do it that she wasn’t about to risk braving a step onto it and seeing if it would crumble beneath her feet. Even if Liliana didn’t seek any revenge upon her or perhaps didn’t even know about her hand in Shadiyah and Druscilla’s escape, if she was smart--which Faye knew she certainly was--Liliana could take advantage of her closeness to Melfice to use her as a pawn to attempt to draw the Vainchelon family out of hiding. All other speculation aside, she didn’t want to fall victim whatever plans Liliana and the cult might have had for her initially. She had her doubts whether the accident that fateful day was an “accident” at all. So with no one to turn to for answers, each day she studied her reflection to see if those lines etched into her face grew any deeper, and wondered how long it might take her to realize if they weren’t. @shadiyah-ffxiv​, @of-darkness-and-dreams​

[berrodarmstrong]

Prompt #7 - Nonagenarian

The day had been anything but uneventful. 

Berrod shifted in his bed roll and was met with a slight bump back from his chocobo. To beat the chill of the night air in Oriens he had laid close to the feathery beast -- not that he would have had much choice otherwise. There were a dozen other refugees and four pack chocobos piled into the small clearing of the former Castrum -- the only space the Alliance could afford them. Having endured the journey from Thanalan however, Berrod could say with confidence that none of them were weak, or lacking. They made their camp, set up their bed rolls -- even a wary perimeter, even though Berrod knew it wasn’t necessary here. It made no sense telling them. They’d learn in time. 

As he settled into comfort, Berrod felt energy seep from his limbs. It was his body’s way of committing to the rest he had set himself up for. Yet, his mind burned as bright as a torch. Much had happened, from the odd armoured knight in the woods, to the elder’s visit and the resulting fiasco in the Dimwold. The matter of the knight -- the ‘forest knight’ Berrod had dubbed him, when speaking of it to his companion -- was a mostly straightforward thing; a strange armoured man with a blade and odd magics that seemed based on the earth and life there. He had been outnumbered, caught on the wayside of the Spire road by a gang of poachers. Berrod chanced to be scouting the way to the wall and gave himself no choice but to assist, even if he wasn’t sure that the knight was even a mortal man until he saw him bleed. The knight fought so fervently in defense of the wood that Berrod had begun to wonder if his own presence had been necessary at all. Nevertheless, after the battle the pair had exchanged short words, and Berrod was rewarded with the key to unlocking the effectiveness of one of his prayers...as exhausting as the prayer itself was. It was half the reason he could barely move in the bed roll. 

With the battle done, the forest knight aided Berrod in escorting the refugees to the border, where they left him behind with thanks and passed through the wall into Oriens. Once Berrod had been sure of the man’s...mortality via seeing him bleed, he had gauged his stature (and tail-lessness) to judge him as hyur. Further to that, when tending to the knight’s wounds, he had seen dark skin. A highlander -- likely from over the wall, by his own judgement, and the way the fellow had seemed to wax wistful over the mention of returning home. It was in that spirit that Berrod unsubtly provided an offer for the knight to come with them...though it was smoothly and politely glossed over. It didn’t matter too much, he had the feeling that they would meet again in time. 

His day had not ended there -- once he had made sure that the refugees were comfortably settled in Oriens, he excused himself to attend a regular gathering of monks and other like minds at a cabin in the Dimwold. There, he was introduced to the guest speaker for the evening, an elder who had spent the past three decades in hermitage in the mountains -- if her age had been mentioned, it eluded him. As a result, he simply just assumed she was in her nineties. The accuracy of that mattered little to him. They say around the fire as she spoke of her life -- a life of parallels to his that bothered and incensed him. Berrod knew the difference between a time to speak and a time to listen, however, and remained without comment for most of what she shared. 

His frustrations compounded when they were spurred into action -- somehow Flora had found herself...no, not somehow. She had left the sanctuary he had assured her and ended up assaulted as a result. Anger aside, there was nothing more important than aiding in saving her life, and so he recalled the forest knight’s brief lesson in clemency to provide support to his companion’s healing. The effort was a success, but cost him the energy that would be needed to aid the others in fighting -- and so, he stayed on the sidelines and waited. From there, he was able to observe much and more...including patterns in the behaviour of his peers that displeased him deeply. For a while he debated whether it was his place anymore to even address such things with them...but he remembered how the idea of withdrawal and inaction infuriated him. No, he would say his piece to them, and from there the torch would be passed for them to do with it what they would. More than once he did wonder if leaving the monkhood was a mistake -- but those doubts were quickly smothered by his sense of purpose. He was still there among them, the only thing that had changed was how he served. 

One piece of advice Berrod had always given to people was never to go to bed angry. That night, in his bedroll, next to his chocobo from which he leeched warmth, he failed himself.

[argentrenard]

Prompt #07: Nonagenarian

“How old even are you anyway?”

Dal Riata grinned at the young elezen’s question.  “Old enough to know better than you,” he said, amused, as he watched the young Elezen trying to play the Viol before him.

“I don’t see why I need to practice this. I can play just fine, I’ve been doing this long before I ran into the Favor,” Argent retorted.  If he had known Mr. Riata was thinking of him as ‘young’ he would have bristled even more.

Dal arched a dark eyebrow up.  Argent squinted as his head gleamed in the light of the blazing sun of his courtyard in Ul’dah when he tiled it forward. “You need to know a thing, you need to know any thing, just like you know your own name.  Surely your past instructors have taught you this?”

Argent blew out air, frustrated, and his dark hair swirled around his forehead.  He closed his eyes and concentrated.  It was a very old song, and one he hadn’t heard before Dal had tried to teach him.

“Feel the music talk to you.  This song is an individual, a person.  It’s dancing with you, ancient and experienced, letting you learn as you go…”

Argent was feeling something as he played.  He was running, and he was free.  The wind pushed him along. He could go anywhere and do anything. The potential was there.  Tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes, he played and-

The strings of the bow snapped, and a horrible screech echoed throughout the courtyard.

Silence.

Finally, Mr. Riata cleared his throat, “It is ok, Argent.  You just got a bit too carried away in the music.  I will get you another bow, and we can-”

Argent threw the broken bow down into the sand. “What’s the point?  I can play fine, I don’t need to practice. I’ve told you.  Let’s practice something useful.  I can use this,” he held the Viol by the neck between them, like a shield, “For the Fiddle Game.  That’s all it’s good for now anyway.”

Dal cleared his throat, “Rounding out your skills is the best way to be useful to Mr. Balthazar, Argent, we can-”

Argent stormed out of the courtyard, “Fuck him. He might have to tell me who to work on, but he doesn’t have to tell me how.”

Dal Riata sighed.  Despite the magic that kept him younger, sometimes he really did feel the 90 or so odd years weighing heavily upon him as he tried to teach Argent. Maybe he needed to find Argent a partner.  Someone his own age?

“No,” Dal said out loud, musing and stroking his chin, “Someone… younger.”

[luck-and-larceny]

Prompt 7: Nonagenarian

"Suuurpriiiise," Malika declared, throwing the door open to an apartment that was decidedly not hers after bap bap bapping at the door more for the joy of the sound than to actually give the owner inside time to prepare.

The door opened wide to a bachelor's apartment, a comfortable, spacious  work in progress that's most eye-catching feature was a second floor loft that held a number of storied treasures on display like a personal museum of hard won victories.

"Look what I found!" Malika exclaimed triumphantly as the owner of the place, an attractive red-headed miqo'te with sea green eyes (one hidden behind an ever present black eyepatch) and a signature smirk looked up from the table he was seated at. Spread out before him was fancy parchment, expensive brushes,and a variety of high quality inks. Behind her was a diminutive, quiet, beautiful Xaela girl with equally stunning green eyes and short black hair. "The rarest of creatures, frankly I thought their existence was a myth!, a SUZHUA."

He raised a hand, still holding a brush gingerly and carefully, in greeting. "I'm sorry about the place," he apologized, casting a look around him as though cataloging for himself all the ways the place failed to deliver the first impression he would have preferred for the guest of honor. For her part, Suzhua didn't seem to mind at all. She didn't respond to the unnecessary apology because it was just that: unnecessary. Instead, she lifted a hand in greeting and let her eyes wander curiously around the room.

"And I present to you, Suzhua, one living, breathing, perfect example of a Khanah'to."

Khanah'to rolled his eyes. Or at least one. The other remained hidden behind an eyepatch. This, too, Suzhua found unnecessary to respond to. She knew Khanah'to already. She didn't need another introduction. 

The perfect example of a Khanah'to motioned with a casual wave of the brush for the two women who had just stormed, unannounced, into his apartment to take a seat across from him at the table with the kind of laid back confidence that suggested there was nothing unusual about the circumstances at all. His free hand ran fingers through his messy red hair. "There're sandwiches here," he nodded his head to where a basket of them waited, "and drinks in the kitchen. Help yourselves."

Given the invitation to, Suzhua moved to the kitchen and quietly did just that, bringing 3 glasses back with her. She brought fruit juice for herself and, knowing the other two in the room, red wine for them. Malika took the bottle of wine and began pouring its contents into her glass before Suzhua even had the chance to settle down into her seat before the low-sitting table.

"Calligraphy?" Malika asked Khanah'to curiously, raising her glass to her lips and looking down at the parchment he had spread out. "I didn't know this ranked among your many surprising hobbies."

He chuckled. "I just won this set off a noble woman. I figured I might as well practice with it. I've noticed the strangest thing though. My right hand draws perfect straight lines but my left one draws loops better."

"Ok." Malika said putting her drink down. "Show me."

To (literally) illustrate his point he leaned over and wrote the names Malika ("more swoops!" Malika urged unhelpfully) and Suzhua on parchment. He hadn't lied. One hand was clearly superior at lines, the other at loops.

An unfamiliar sound broke the momentary silence that came between the lifting of Khanah'to's brush and the dropping of it. It was so quiet it might not have been heard if not for that silence. "Can I see the brush?"

Khanah'to lifted his gaze from his parchment and let it fall onto the Xaela girl, who even despite the way the table sat low to the ground was so tiny she somehow managed to disappear behind it. "Sure," he answered and pushed the paper over. He then handed her the brush. 

Her small hand gripped the brush tightly, dipped it in ink, and wrote her name in her best Eorzean script. SUZHUA.

Malika watched in awe. She'd never seen anything like it before. It was unique. It was bold. It-

She burst into laughter. "Suzhua, what is that??"

"My name?" 

"How? You're so mysterious and intriguing and then you write your name and your handwriting looks like it was written with the shaky, trembling hand of a 90 year old woman!"

"I'm better in Xaelic writing!" Suzhua protested. "It makes more sense! Your script is… it's just senseless loops!"

"I like loops," Malika stated...again unhelpfully. "So write our names in Xaelic!"

"Yeah," Khanah'to agreed, providing a polite lack of commentary on the visiting au'ra's so far terrible calligraphy. "I'd like to see that."

"Can't," Suzhua answered with a small shrug of her shoulders. "I don't know what your names mean. I can't write them in another language. Do they even have meaning?"

Malika had no idea. "Oh, yeah. Tons," she said anyway. "But what if you just make up names for us? I'd like to know what you think would fit us."

"What kind of traits do you think describe you?" Suzhua asked and Malika shrugged again.

"I don't know. Playful? But impossible?"

Khanah'to grinned and copied the shrug. "Well,she’s not wrong."

Suzhua thought about this combination of words. Then she thought about the girl next to her and a grin briefly flashed onto her usually more serious face. Her hand moved smoothly across the paper and the result was remarkably beautiful. Stunning even.

"That's my name? Wow. It means what I said?"

"It's more like… cute...but annoying. It's a word we use for our sheep when they're misbehaving. It's like… a word you mutter under your breath. Like a curse."

If this was supposed to upset the dark haired Keeper girl it absolutely did not. It very much had the opposite effect. "I'm an annoying, badly behaved sheep!? I'm a curse word!?I love it. Please let me have that paper with my new name on it. Pleeease."

"What about me?" Khanah'to asked. "What am I?"

"No," Suzhua said, "You have to give me words."

"I can't do that," Khanah'to said quietly. There was a quality to his voice, something low, uncertain, and uncomfortable as he said it. He dropped his gaze to the table, his usual confidence, for the moment, somehow absent. “I can’t give myself a new name,” he spared a glance at Malika and then to Suzhua, “I need you to.”

Malika raised her eyebrows in concern. Suzhua raised her brush. Once more, beautiful calligraphy painted the canvas of the parchment.

"That's even prettier than mine," Malika commented quietly. "What's it mean?"

Silence. 

"It's like...a man who is hospitable. Someone who brings things for people to share over a table. Like food. Like he did for us." 

Silence.

"Suzhua," Malika asked, a wickedly amused grin on her face, "Did you just name him Sandwich Boy?"

Silence.

And then a quiet and apologetic, "...yes." -End --Thanks to @keeperofthegamble and @suzhuazheyal for allowing me to write about this RP we did together. --This prompt was hard. --This is also just a humorous leadin to what has become a very serious and character-defining character journey for Khanah’to to shed his name, which is tied to his abusive mother, and take on a new one that feels more like his own. I look forward to reading where that goes. I suspect he won’t land on “Sandwich Boy.”

[eorzean-wayfinder]

FFXIVWrite2020-Prompt7-Nonagenarian

He had the patience of the Kami. At least that’s what they all kept telling him. Kuroji really wasn’t sure. In reality he had drawn the short straw out of the other shinobi to ‘assist’ the more elderly residents of the enclave that week. 

Kuroji carried bags of flour, hung laundry, retrieved cats and other pets from strange places, dug in the mud to help plant the rice paddies, and other various things that he’d rather not think about. It was just going to be some time before he’d be cleaning cooking pots without gagging. 

The reward he got for all of his hard work was often a pat on the cheek when they could reach or his arm when they couldn’t and be told he was such a ‘nice young man.” Kuroji grumbled about it to the other shinobi but in reality, they often had a lot to teach him. He learned so much about how to plant rice, take care of chickens, baking bread, and most importantly valuing family and loved ones and finding a balance in your life for everything. 

All good lessons to take to heart with decades of experience to back them up.