Monday, December 24, 2012

Christmas Lights and Singing Shepherds

It appears that it is the 24th of December, unless the calendars all are lieing, but that is highly unlikely. It's cold. While there is no snow due to an appalling lack of precipitation, the cold persists. This time of year does have its perks though. Driving down almost any road, a person is bound to come across at least one home strung with lights. It's things like that that pull joy through me. Something as simple as lights in a dark night can pull me from whatever hole I've been in.

It's hard to write about Christmas, how strongly it lives within us even out of the season, so I'm just going to tell you a story instead. As a warning it isn't particularly funny or long, it's just a small anecdote.

My sister and I played dolls often. We loved making up stories. One year we decided to do a Christmas pageant with our dolls. We were not deterred by lack of an audience. My sister's favorite dolls were Mary and Joseph. My dolls were the innkeeper and his wife. It went fairly predictably, until we brought out the shepherds. Here, we had taken a few creative liberties. It began with a song.

"We are the hillbilly shepherds and we have two dozen sheep."
"And one goat!"
"And we feed the goat laundreeeee."

After the shepherds finished singing, their mother called them in for dinner, which was inevitably shepherd's pie.

The rest was perfectly normal until the two wise men came. The third one was sick and couldn't make it.

Friday, December 14, 2012

Math and Me: The Lack of Equality

I do not do numbers. We just do not work. I can pick up on ideas fairly quickly in any subject and I can remember most facts, unless those facts are numbers, but none the less, in high school, I still made better math grades than many of my classmates. I get the ideas, not the numbers.

It was my sophomore year, and I was in geometry. One day we had a sub that gave us the option of playing a game or doing the worksheet. If you know students of any age, our choice won't be remotely surprising. We played the game. In the game, a girl went up to one side of the white board and a boy went to the other. The sub read a problem, and whoever finished the problem correctly earned a point for their team. It was pretty straight forward; then I went up there.

217 x 16

I stood there, marker poised to make a mark as my opponent scribbled away. I could hear some boys whispering behind me.

"She's doing it in her head. There's a white board in her head, man."

The boys' team got the point, and I slid back in my seat without making a mark to show any work, wondering if that's really what they thought. What really happened? I stood there for about four minutes trying to remember what six times seven is.

Multiplication has never been my friend. We started timed multiplication tests in third grade. 50 problems  in 15 minutes, till we started 100 problems in so much time. I never finished. I would stress out and there would be nothing there. It got so bad that I'd try to go to the nurse at just the right time, so I could avoid it. It did make me feel bad though. Somehow, I never missed a test, except on days I was absent. When my Algebra 1 teacher had us do one for "fun" at the beginning of my freshman year, I ended up crying when I hugged my mom after school. I hadn't even finished halfway when everyone else was finished and talking loudly behind me. I think multiplication has scarred me in some irreversible way.

In fourth grade we would split into pairs and quiz each other with multiplication problems. Two one digit numbers. They were on flash cards. Once one person showed the other a card, she had to answer in fifteen seconds. I basically failed at that.

Back even farther, to when we started subtraction. I'd actually been getting along with numbers. Each had its own personality and gender. They behaved in set ways when they were with each other. Then subtraction came along and my sweet little world shattered. I started to dislike math.

Looking through award certificates and teachers notes that my mother had kept from my elementary years, I found a sweet little note from my kindergarten teacher to my mother, explaining that I had accomplished the task of counting to 100, however, I had left out the number fifteen and that I often did, when I counted. I remember that when I read that, as a little one, I was fairly put out. Who needs fifteen? It's not important! The irony of this? My favorite number has been fifteen for the last few years.

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

A Letter to Spiders (#3)

Dear Spiders,

I had thought that we were living quite peacefully. I hadn't seen any of you in maybe a month, except for the one that spun a web between my bedstand and a wall, but that one was asking to be squished. Saturday I opened my closet to pull out a top, and one of you was just sitting there on a white sweater. It was kind of obvious, considering he wasn't white. Do you have to do that? When was the last time any of you were in my closet? A year and a half? I thought we'd worked out the boundaries when it came to the closet. There aren't even any bugs to eat in there!

I thank the brown recluses for staying out of this situation. As for the one that was on my sweater, look out little buddy, because you were lucky I didn't see where you landed. Next time, you'll be flattened with a flip-flop. Got it?


The Saga of the Christmas Tree (Part 1)

When I was young, my mother took me with her to buy a new Christmas tree. What happened to the last one; your guess is as good as mine. Maybe mice got in it, maybe spiders, maybe the lights were dead, or maybe it just wouldn’t reassemble properly anymore. Whatever the reason was, we needed a new one. My sister and father did not accompany us to Wal-Mart that day.

I wandered along beside the cart as we rolled into the Christmas section. There at the beginning of a shelf was a display tree. It was dark green with lights scattered through it. My little feet stalled in their path, until my mother dragged me along into the tree aisle. There she compared sizes, prices, and with lights already strung in or not, and I did my best not to be bored out of my young mind. Finally, my mother pulled a large box off of the shelf. It didn’t fit entirely in the cart, but enough of it did that it wasn’t impractical. Mom was fairly happy with it as it was on sale. The box had been opened and resealed.

“It was probably a display tree,” she commented to me as we meandered our way towards the checkout. She didn’t offer any explanation as to why it wasn’t anymore.

Days, maybe weeks later, my older sister and I sat before the tree with our Barbies in pre-Christmas joy. Well, at least until I wacked the back of my head on a tree branch. In pain, I hurried to my mother for comfort. She was at her computer as always.

“Do you remember when we got that tree?”

I nodded diligently.

“Well, it was on sale, and it used to be a display tree, but they had to take it down because it was eating children, so you need to be more careful around it, okay?”

I nodded again.

Not long after, she wrote of this very incident, concluding it with “I love kids. (They taste wonderful!)”.

Thursday, November 29, 2012


She screamed,
a sound
raw with terror
and confusion.

Two wolves,
to which her heart
was leashed,
were running
different ways.

One of anger.
The other, remorse.
One rabid.
The other tame.

The strain
on her heart,
the angry snarls,
the pained yelps...

Her scream
from the trees
and although both loved her
neither paused.

At last the pain,
too great to bear,
woke her.

Saturday, November 17, 2012

The Plague

One Friday, the fourth in February of my freshman year in high school, my mother, sister, and I swung by the local Dollar General and picked up some needed items. Normally we also picked up something to snack on, this was no exception. My treat was a bag of Pixy Stixs. I loved them, and still do. The plan was not to eat the whole bag. When I got home, I sorted them by color and ate the whole bag. So much for the plan. Seconds after I finished the last one, I was assaulted by a massive headache. It was excruciating. So much so, that it actually hurt to move my eyes. I don't know how, but I managed to fake my way through the evening, while not giving the impression to my family that my brain was about to explode. I attributed it to the Pixy Stixs and went to bed.

The next day, I found a blister of some kind on the back of my left shoulder. My mom looked at it and couldn't think of anything strange about it, just that we might want to watch it. I promptly forgot about blister until Sunday, after my shower, when I discovered another. They itched a little now. I walked out of the bathroom, wrapped in my fuzzy robe, to ask my mother about itchy blisters. We looked it up and learned about a certain illness that, while red spots are more famous, can have blisters instead. Chicken Pox. My mom had the school nurse take a look at me before classes started, Monday. The nurse was skeptical, but did confirm, after inspection, what had been suspected. I did not attend classes that day, or any other that week.

My memory of that time is fairly fuzzy. I remember walking around the house crying from the pain, my grandmother bringing movies and watching them with me, and thinking over and over that I would wish my experience on no one. Never was I so happy to return to school. Despite missing a week of lessons, I managed to maintain my A B average. I had a fair amount of scabs, some of which I remember pulling out of my hair. Trust me, the insides of your knees, where your collar rubs your skin around your neck, those blisters were no fun at all.

When we suspected it least, the plague struck again. My sister was far from pleased. I once turned on my phone after classes and received a text message from her. It detailed that I should come home soon because she was lonely and cats don't speak English. I felt awful.

Chicken Pox takes ten days to show symptoms. Using this knowledge, we learned that my sister contracted it the last day I was contagious, and I got it on a Tuesday. According to my journal from that time, it was a snow day. Mom says we had gone to Wal-Mart, but I have no definite proof or anything to disprove that statement.

As Thanksgiving approaches this year, I thank my father, God, for the well being of my family, friends, and those I do not know.

Monday, November 5, 2012

National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo)

So. Here it is. The month of novel writing. I've actually never participated. Well, I might have for a day, but I'm a bit attention deficit when it comes to writing. I set out to write a book and I end up getting distracted by characters newly born, ideas that wouldn't work in the world I'm writing in, old stories that are calling for revisions... That's why I tend to stick with short stories and poetry. This year I'm hitting it again. I'm going to try to write a book, again.

I started in fifth grade, but the story progressed too fast. There was very little character development, and let's face it, at fifth grade my spelling and grammar were awful, let alone my writing style. I had to shut it down. I buried The Last Gift Seer and have only revisited it to bring back happy memories, not to write or improve it. Sixth grade through eighth, I improved, but I kept starting over. I never reached chapter two. I said goodbye to my dragon story, Wingbeat.

I'll see how it goes this time around. It gives me a reason to procrastinate on a blog post I've been meaning to write about something (I won't spoil it for you, just in case I do finish it.), something to do instead of scanning my shelves for something to read that matches my mood, and frankly I'd rather do this than "No Shave November" (On that front, let's just conclude that my big brother, Ace, is excited for an excuse to attempt a beard.*).

I won't be alone. Another blogger, Sarah Elisabeth Newman, is participating in NaNoWriMo. She's actually why I decided to. Sarah's been working on her book for a while, and I admire that, especially considering my track record. The way I see it, if I keep in mind that she's working on it, it'll help me stay focused.

So, now that you've read this slightly boring post, I have a challenge for you.

Join us.

*Note: My brothers list grows, since they're all honorary. Ace is currently the youngest of my four main brothers.

Sunday, October 14, 2012


This is part true and part fictionalized and it's not very well written, just so you know.

October could smell the heat and the food, behind those white doors. Cautiously, he ascended the stairs, his full coat of fur soaking up the sun's heat. There were no sounds coming through the door, so he curled up in front of it to soak up the heat that leaked out. He heard another door open and shut then open and shut again. Silently, he pressed against his door and tried to be invisible. Footsteps rhythmically approached along the sidewalk, then stopped. October looked at the human.

"Hello." She had a green jacket, white shoes, and jeans.

October stood up, stretched, and started to descend the stairs. To his dismay, she started to climb the steps and stretch her arm towards him. He glanced towards the bush beside the church steps and took a defensive stance.

She stepped back down on the concrete, "Oh. Okay. I'll leave you alone. It's alright."

October walked down the steps towards her and stopped at her feet. Tentatively, she reached out and touched him. Something in October sparked. A memory. Curling up on a little girl's bed and being petted. His mother washing his tabby fur. He pushed into this human's touch and purred. It felt so nice. Her fingers touched the scar on his ear, and it didn't hurt. When was the last time he had been stroked by a human? He rubbed against the back of her legs. Warm and safe. How he'd missed being a human's cat.

Before he knew it, the human was apologizing for having to leave and walking away. He stared after her longingly. A few feet away, she stopped and turned around, "bye." She smiled fondly at him and left. He stayed there and watched her leave in her box on wheels. One day, he knew he'd travel in one to live in a large box with people, just as he had when he was a kitten. He wouldn't forget this female that had reminded him of the warm touch and love of humanity.

I met October today after church. I don't actually know if he was a boy or if he'd ever had a sound given to him, but he has one now. October. He was so friendly, and I hadn't expected it. I hope he does have a home, but even if he doesn't, God will care for him as he does all things.


Thank you for letting me meet you. I'm blessed to be able to have spent time with you. You will be warm and safe in my heart. There will always be people willing to hurt you, but never forget that there are also those who will take you in and love you. Good-bye, sweet cat. I won't forget you.


Saturday, September 29, 2012

25 Lessons Learned From Fairy Tales

Hey! I haven't blogged in almost a month, and it has been killing me. Okay, I know I've gone without blogging for longer periods of time, but that was when I would go a month or two without touching my computer. I still do that, but I'm not right now (obviously). This is something I've been thinking about writing for some time, so I finally got around to it yesterday.

1. Always be nice, especially to old and/or disabled people and children.

2. Know if you have faults. That's the only way to overcome them.

3. Show mercy to animals.

4. Especially if you are the eldest or middle of three siblings, all of the same gender, keep in good relations with your younger sibling or siblings.

5. People aren't always as they seem.

6. If you love someone, fight for him.

7. Do not succumb to jealousy.

8. It means nothing to be born into poverty.

9. Be careful what you wish for

10. "The third time's the charm!"

11. Stick to your family. Never abandon, disown, or dishonor them.

12. If someone makes a point of telling you to do or not do something, it's best to listen and obey.

13. There are people in this world who would do you harm.

14. There are those who will defeat all obstacles to defend the innocent.

15.  No one is entirely invincible.

16. Every obstacle can be overcome in some way.

17. Don't take candy from strangers.

18. Be likeable. Good things happen to likeable people. Bad things can happen too, but there is a guarantee of good things.

19. Don't boast.

20. Finish things you set out to do.

21. Don't make promises you won't keep.

22. Be wise.

23. Life can be unfair, but you can shape it.

24. Always be polite.

25. There are happy endings.

Monday, September 3, 2012

My Loves

I'm afraid that I haven't been blogging as often as I should, so I decided to share this with you. I got the prompt from Build Creative Writing Ideas. Please forgive the formatting errors.

Prompt: You get a phone call from a strange number. The voice on the other line says he can reunite you with a lost love, forever. In return, he will take the life of someone close to you. He proves his power by giving you a full day with your lost love. Describe the day and your decision.
It was warm when I woke up, the same temperature outside the covers as within. Sun light poured through my window, and I blinked in its brilliance. Why had I woken up? My sister laughed in the room next to mine. Smiling, I stretched my arms above my head and straightened out my legs. Whoomp!    

“Grendel!” I jerked my blanket covered toes away from our furry fury. He jerked his head towards their new location and pounced before I could move. I kicked. He held on. In a last desperate effort, I rolled off the bed. Somehow he stayed on my mattress. My plan of staying in bed reading for an hour was now officially out the window. I shot a displeased glare at him before pushing myself off the floor. Red caught my eye. My feet were covered with red lines that weren’t there when I’d gone to bed; they stung too. Staying on the flat of my feet, I waddled to the bathroom and sat on the floor while applying band-aids. Dad poked his head through the door.  
 “What happened to you?” 

 “What happened was a sweet cuddle session with Grendel.” 

He chuckled and proceeded to the kitchen in search of coffee.
After a few more minutes I too went to the kitchen. Mom was sitting, slouched over the table; it had been three days since she’d returned form Murray.
The phone leaped to life; Ode to Joy resonated throughout the house. I snatched up the phone in the kitchen, so my mother wouldn’t have to.
 “Hello.” I smiled as I said it, and why not? The day was beautiful, other than the red stripes on my feet.
“Hello, may I speak with Miss Kara?” The voice was decidedly male, but I didn’t recognize it.
 “May I ask who is calling?” I turned and walked to my room.
 A short laugh was the response I received. “You may call me Green, Kara, and I can give you the world.”
 My voice deadened. “If you’re trying to sell me something…”
 “I am, but it’s not the normal kind of sale.”
 “No. One we are on a no call list. Two I am a minor. You should have asked for my parents.”
 “You’re the last one he remembers.”
  My silence was enough of a question for him to continue.
 “You see, I can reunite you with the love that you lost.”
 “I haven’t lost any-”
He cut me off. “All I’m asking for is a life, blood for blood, that sort of thing.”
“I would never trade the life of anyone. Goodbye.”
 “You get one day with him.”
 I hung up.
 That afternoon was beautiful. I lay down beneath a tree and fell asleep. The brush of fur woke me up. I smiled and reached towards it, my eyes still closed. Soft warm fur and a loud purr greeted me. The cat was too big to be Saffron, so it had to be Grendel. I blearily blinked my eyes open. The face I saw was not Grendel’s. It was black and white. We don’t have any black and white cats, and I was surprised that this stranger was so friendly.  I petted him for a few minutes before deciding to go inside. The cat followed me. I changed directions. It still followed me. I bent down and petted it. Purr. Purr. Purr. I walked all the way around the yard, followed by the cat. He hurried along behind me like a loyal puppy. I stopped, caught a sob in my throat, and blinked away the threat of tears. The last time I had thought something like that was with Cheerio. I sat down in the grass and stroked the muscular cat. He purred some more, a deep throaty purr, like a motor boat. He had a nick in his ear like Schuster, so had Cheerio. This cat had a slightly swollen front paw, bare patches near his rear, and green eyes, just like Cheerio.
“Baby?” I knew it was a stupid thing to do, and my eyes were all blurry after I said it, but I called him by Cheerio’s nickname. He purred louder. It was in that moment that I decided to do something, something only my Cheerio would do. I went inside and grabbed a glass of water and a towel before coming back outside. Slowly, I knelt down next to the dark and light cat. Then I gradually poured half of the water on it. He jumped up and ran away. That’s normal. I waited until he stopped and looked back at me before I held up the towel. He charged back and practically pushed himself into the towel, frantically purring. It was at that moment that I was entirely and utterly convinced that this was my Cheerio.
The following hours were spent in the woods. I climbed over fallen trees, and he squirmed under them. We chased each other down secret paths, and we cuddled beneath leaf canopies. I can’t thoroughly describe how happy I was; it was a little like seeing your best friend again in years and discovering that neither of you had changed or forgotten anything, only better. When he had disappeared I felt responsible. After all, I had been the last to see him, the last one he saw.

 “You’re the last one he remembers.”

I bolted upright from the grass, waking Cheerio up. No, please no.
“...I can reunite you with the love that you lost.”
Yes, I had always loved Cheerio, our little Chiaroscuro.
 “You get one day with him.”
I fell to my knees and cried. This time, when Cheerio rubbed against me, I only cried harder.
 It was seven o’clock when Green called again. I had prepared myself and sat on the back porch with the phone and Cheerio. As soon as Ode to Joy started up, I gave Cheerio a fond stroke and picked up the phone. I told myself I wouldn’t cry.

 “Green.” No need for me to say hello. I knew who it was.

“Kara.” I could hear the smile in his voice, and I hated him for it.
 “Yes. You remember my price?” How was it possible for anyone to sound that oily?
 I looked at my scratch covered feet.“‘Blood for blood’.”
 “What is your response?” He sounded hungry and all to eager.
 “I told you, I can’t do that.” I picked up Cheerio and held him close. Purr. Purr.
 “Then say good-bye.” It sounded almost like a threat. The line went dead, and I burst into tears.
 Cheerio and I sat in the woods in silence. I broke it. “I’ll miss you, Princeling.” I couldn’t say anymore; I didn’t need to. When the sun set, he was in my arms. He seemed more real with each passing second, but when the sun was gone he blinked out of existence.
I trudged home in the dark, took a shower, and curled up on my bed; I sobbed there for a few minutes. When I opened my eyes, I saw Schuster under my desk. Still sniffling, I picked him up and held him close. He didn’t complain or dig his claws in my shirt; he just hung limp. I held very still. I didn’t feel him breathing.
 “NO!” I screamed. No no no no no. No, I’d made the right choice. I’d let Cheerio go. I couldn’t lose Schuster now, not now. I heard three pairs of feet pounding down the hall to my room and concerned voices, but they seemed so far away. I held Schuster close and bawled.

Friday, July 27, 2012

A Porcelain Doll Loved By Her Maker

"There's a girl in the corner with tear stains on her eyes from the places she's wandered and the shame she can't hide. She says, 'How did I get here? I'm not who I once was...'" -- You Are More by Tenth Avenue North

I think we're all in a corner at some point in our lives. The world pushes and shoves, and we get lost and hurt. It's almost like we're porcelain dolls, played with by children. Sometimes someone says or does something, and it's like a child threw you across the room to see if you could fly and you end up fractured. The perpetrator doesn't mean to hurt you, but doesn't think to check to see if you're okay. Other times we do something and believe that we can't be forgiven or that no one will love us because of it, and that can hurt us too. I have a few words to tell you. It's why I am able to go through the world without shattering completely.

God loves us and always will. No matter what we do or say, He loves us.

God crafted us with His own hands. Each doll unique and surrounded by His love, but we're more than dolls. We make our own decisions, and even though it causes Him grief to see us turn our backs to him, He lets us, so we can learn. We are head strong and fragile, yet He loves us more than any mortal can conceive. When we fall, He picks us up and washes not only our tear stained faces, but also our aching hearts. He washes away our sins because of love. He's our Father.

I was playing around on YouTube, watching the music video for Lift Me Up by The Afters, and I found a music video for a band I had vaguely heard of. I figured it wouldn't hurt to expand my musical database a little. I nearly cried. When I showed it to my mother she had one word for it. Powerful. Yes, the music was good, but I don't think there could be better visuals for it. I recommend that you watch it. It's alright if you don't like it; I won't judge you for that, but the message is strong and true. Here's a link: You Are More by Tenth Avenue North

God has gifted these young men with the ability to spread his word and love.

An Encounter With A Spider

This morning there was a spider. It was a brown recluse. Most are. My mother was sitting on the couch, working on her afghan. I was sprawled on a pile of pillows whilst observing a cat. Something skittered across the floor. I jerked up with a startled exclamation of wordless surprise. The spider stopped just in front of the couch.

My mother looked at me. "Spider?" her only, but accurate query.

I nodded, keeping my eyes on the offending arachnid.

My mother calmly moved her yarns and lifted her feet off the ground. "Well? Aren't you going to kill it?"

Right. I looked around the room. In a battle, your choice of weapon is key. Board game box. No, it's too big and flimsy. Yearbooks, Mom would kill me. Coaster. Perfect. Ceramic disc in hand, I faced down the spider. Not big, not small, probably a little juicy. However, while I had the advantage of size and strength, the eight legged menace was close enough to the couch that if I missed, he could easily escape.

"If you can't get to it, get the spray."

I weighed my options. With the coaster, the spider would be gone in a matter of seconds, but I only had one shot. With the spray, I would only need one shot, but my mother has always stressed that if I can conceivably smash a spider, I shouldn't use the spray. One shot. I lowered the coaster in order to run to the spray.

The spider sensed an opportunity and darted under the couch.

I darted to the kitchen, grabbed the canned death of arachnid, and hurried back, but I was too late. I couldn't see it, so I sent a small cloud of poison under the couch and hoped it had been enough.

"Not enough!" My mother took the spider killing fumes and put layer after layer of it around the bottom of the couch, the front, the side, the back, and the other side. A vision of spiders with tiny gas masks entered my mind. Even with gas masks, the poison eats through the exoskeleton, leaving no survivors. I watched my mother, half expecting her to burst into maniacal laughter.

When she was done I asked her if it was a little excessive. After all, she was the one who told me that use that stuff sparingly.

"We sit on the couch and floor all the time. It was called for."

From the look on her face, I learned where my strong reaction to spiders comes from. I can be brave, but if I see one bigger than the tiny carpet spiders, I freeze. Spiders are trying to over take the world. People with arachnophobia just happen to realize how dangerous spiders are.

Nothing with eight legs will survive under our couch for a very long time.

Sunday, July 15, 2012

A Second Letter to Spiders

Dear Spiders (specifically the Brown Recluse spiders that live under and behind my bookshelf),

I know you're there. Waiting. Waiting for the opportune time to do me in. I do not appreciate this. You have fewer places to hide, but that doesn't mean that you have to flaunt your existence by crawling out from under the bookshelf almost every night as I go to bed, but as long as you stay still and try to camouflage with the pink carpet, even though you are irreversibly brown, I can grab a weapon and end your tiny venomous lives.

I have a weapon that is extremely good at finding and distracting you. Its name is Lil-Bit. I may not see you, but my kitty is very good at hunting you. Move once and she sees you. With my kitty, I will foil your plans of world domination! So prepare for war. If either of us sees you, you're gone. Let the war begin. There will be many casualties, on your side.


Thursday, July 12, 2012

Letter to Saltine Crackers

Dear Saltine Crackers,

Have I ever told you how much I love you? I really love you. Today I have wandered away from the computer several times to see if the fridge or cabinets had produced anything to eat in the last five minutes. I was continually disappointed. Then I saw you, oh package of dried food rectangles, and I knew I was saved. I took you back to my room, where I prepared to sit happily at my computer and read blogs. Much to my dismay, you were nearly stolen from me within moments of our reunion, but I did not let that silken feline take you.

Now we sit, me in my chair and you in your open package. Have I ever told you how much you mean to me? You have been beside me through thick and thin, happy sleepy days and in the aftermath of great pain. It's okay, if you were there during those fatal hours, you would have come back up, which would have been unpleasant for us both. You are of monumental worth to me. You are awesome and tasty.

Thank you,

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

Love: the Ultimate Truth

"So much of what really happens in this world can't be seen with those round balls in your eye sockets. You could pluck them out and still see bright as day. Or you could walk around with the prettiest blue eyes carved from the sky and be as blind as Black himself." -- Ted Dekker

I recently finished reading Sinner by Ted Dekker. I cried. I won't tell you at which part because that might spoil it for you. There is part of every one of Ted Dekker's books that rings true. That part is the same in each one. The most important part of Christ is love. He loves us.

He loves us. He loves us! He LOVES us!

It's true. If you look in the bible he does everything out of love for us. Even flooding the Earth was an act of love.Yes, he also punished us many many times, but parents punish their children because they love them and want them to learn. Sadly, humans tend to take a lot of time to learn.

Referring to the quote, there are a lot of blind people out there. They don't know Christ's love and power. I think all of us have the same power as Dekker's Johnny. We can all open others' eyes to the truth, though admittedly not as extravagantly. The world isn't black and white, though. Some of us can see, but it's a little hazy, blurred. Those of us need glasses. Our spectacles can be found in any book store, library, and even many many homes. The Bible. There are so many examples of His love and power .

It can be boring for some in the New Testament, when the first several books are the same story only a little different, but it's like in any learning experience. If the instructor, or book, goes over something more than once, it's probably very very important. The story of Jesus IS very very important. 

"For God so love the world that He gave his one and only son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have eternal life." -- John 3:16

God loves us. We are all his children. He is our Father. Therefore all of creation is our family, all of mankind is our siblings. We are family in Him.

I am a daughter of Christ.

Monday, July 9, 2012

Babies, Kittens, and Love

You probably recall my kitten Lil-Bit, a sweet little calico that I was able to adopt along with her living shadow with teeth of a brother. However, Insta-Purr is my sister's. I don't have to take the blame when he wakes people up in the mornings. He does. We used to let Lil-Bit and Insta-Purr sleep upstairs, until Insta-Purr started hitting the doors at night. There was once when he actually opened my door by throwing himself against it repeatedly because my door didn't latch that night. I would throw him in my sister's room or in the basement. The kittens sleep in the basement at night now, and now I can sleep at night. The little monster has something against letting me sleep; I'm sure of it.

I appear to have run off course. Lil-Bit has become an important part of my family. She will curl up with me to take a nap. All I have to do is pick her up and take her to wherever I have decided to lie down. I feed her before bed and she sleeps on my floor when she feels like it. Normally the floor is just fine, but recently she will jump on my lap and from there to my desk. She only does this when my computer is on though. When she was a little fuzz ball, she would walk all over the laptops of my mother and sister. She was quite talented at it too. It was within her grasp to pull up windows media player without even looking at the keys.

A few of the blogs I read are posted by mothers. They talk about the challenges, but mostly about the love they have for their children. In my eyes it's not that different than having a kitten. This in mind, I have complied some similarities and differences of kittens and children.

1.You change the diapers/litter box.

2.You feed them.

3.When Christmas comes, the breakable ornaments are moved to the top of the tree.

4.Valuables are moved out of their reach.

5.If they cry you feel bad for them.

6.They chew on things they shouldn't chew on.

7.They are adorable.

8.People will come if you ask them to see your baby/kitten.

9.They enjoy being out in nice weather.

10.Both can be frustrating.

11.Babies/Kittens are interesting to small children.

12.They look like perfect angels in their sleep.

See? They really are quite similar. No doubt I forgot some likenesses though. The following is a list of their differences.

1.Kittens are fluffy.

2.Litter box training is easier. Cats already have the instinct to bury their waste.

3.When babies get scared they cry. When kittens get scared they fluff their fur out and are adorable.

4.Kittens can climb the Christmas tree, so rearranging the ornaments doesn't help.

5.Kittens are born with sharp claws. These cause pain.

6.On average, cats are less expensive than babies.

They're similar and different, but in the end aren't we all something small that needs someone to take care of us? God made each of us different and similar. It's not that hard to see that with other animals too. He made us and He takes care of us. He gives many species' mothers the instinct to protect their babies. It's hard not to believe in His power and love when you see a baby of any species. Especially when it's a kitten, in my case.

Today I am content to sit by Lil-Bit, as she approaches the year old mark, and marvel at our Lord's power and love. Good night my sweet kitten. I'll see you in the morning.

Saturday, July 7, 2012

My Mother's Poetry

Alright, I haven't posted poetry in a while. In truth I've been spending more time with my nose in a book than I have been writing. For you. A poem. I wrote this when my mother was working on a project, sitting on the couch with her laptop on her lap. It's not exactly a masterpiece, but it isn't horrid.

Her whispered words
through the air,
as gentle and distant
as snowflakes
through a closed window.

Each word
is a mystery
to me,
as I sit
pinned to the recliner
by an old, loved cat,
with his nose tucked
under my chin
while he occupies my chest.

Each word
is only for her,
to test the sound,
so she may revise
as needed.
I dare not speak to her
or raise my voice,
least I disturb her.

All I can do,
as I sit
beneath a blanket
of cat fur,
is wait
and hope
that one day
I too may hear
her poem.

Friday, July 6, 2012

Happy Late Fourth (2012)

Dear Reader,

Hello. It seems that every other day there is a story on the news about a fire caused by fireworks. That's the Americans. We'll set off fireworks even if the grass is so dry it just goes up in a puff of smoke. Well, individuals will. A lot of towns actually cancelled their firework displays in order to prevent an accidental fire. My family had a small get together in one place that did not cancel. We ate dinner and caught a show. It was ten p.m. when we came out, and over the buildings we could see flashes of color. I stared out the window on the way home. All around us fireworks spurted to the stars. It was beautiful. The word magic fits perfectly. It wasn't just magic on the way back. On the drive in, there were hills covered in dark green trees. Sometimes there were fields between the hills and sometimes halfway down a hill another abruptly started, as if they were crowding each other. It's easy to see them as the mountains they once were.

My Fourth of July was filled with beauty, even if it was too hot to stay out very long when the sun was still up. I know that not all of my readers are in America, but the majority is. I hope all of you had a happy day on the fourth regardless of if it was a holiday for you or not.


A Little Bit Of Tidying And A Dash Of Stress

My room and my study are the same place; I spend more time there than I do in the other rooms of the house. As a result, that is where I put my stuff down when I don't want to put out the effort to put it where it belongs. Yes, that is a complicated way of saying 'I have a messy room'. Actually though, that's past tense now. I cleaned my room in late May of this year. Somehow, this has affected my brain.

Since I have cleaned my room, I have become more organized than my sister, the responsible one. This doesn't just refer to our living quarters. For example, I rearranged the movie bookshelf. My sister helped a little. I don't organize like most people. The following are some of the sections we now have.

Science Fiction/Joss Whedon
Old Cheesy Movies (Gremlins, Time Bandits, etc.)
Westerns/Action Movies
Fairy Tales
Heroes (not the T.V. show. Different movies that have come from comic book heroes.)
Movies We Wish We Never Bought

I had a phone call so I had to leave my sister to finish putting the categories on the shelves. I was impressed when I returned to find that she had organized Historical Figures in chronological order of the figure. However, I do not think that our Inspirational Movie section should be arranged by time period. If they deal with the same issues I will put them together, otherwise time shouldn't really matter there. The categories are in no "logical" order, but it makes sense to me. It's very much like my bookshelves.

Back to the main topic. The point is, I've always been unorganized. When we were little, my sister and I used to joke about how the toys on the floor were booby traps. We always knew where to step and other people had to stay strictly to the path that snaked around our bed. What I want to know is how cleaning my room triggers a need to organize little things. Cleaning still holds that subtle dislike, but tidying is fine. There is a difference. Cleaning is the big stuff, the attic, the teenager's room, that huge pile of dishes on the counter. Tidying is the little stuff, putting the small pile of laundry on coat hangers in the closet, putting something left around back where it goes, reorganizing. Big stuff is made up of little stuff, but if I can still view the little stuff as building up to the big stuff I stress. I sort of flip out after doing a tiny amount.

"This is such a big thing!"

"Why must I do this today? Why not tomorrow? Why not the day after tomorrow?" (The call of procrastination, I know it well.)

"There might be a spider in there!"

"I can't do all this!"

"Can I do it later? I want to stay in this book for a few more days."

"I was perfectly fine before. I don't see why it's all that important."

"I think something moved! Was it a spider?!"

"Nap please? We like naps."

"EEeek! Spider!"

Somehow, even if I have all the time in the world, big stuff triggers something in my brain that puts me in panic mode. In sixth grade, I would cry from the overload of stress. I guess I just stress easily, but it's okay now. My mother used to stress a lot too. She still does, but she says it's not as often or bad as she used to. She was the one who taught me how to avoid stress. Maybe that's why my brain has decided to have a strong love of tidying. In order to protect me from a meltdown, it minimizes the likelihood of me encountering something that could cause a meltdown. Huh. How about that. Well, that or I'm just plain crazy ,which is just as, if not more, likely.

Thursday, June 7, 2012

Kittens and Gladiator/Hunger Games Cats

A cat wandered to our house a while ago. She was pregnant and tiny. The general consensus was that if she gave birth, both her and offspring would die, but a few weeks later there were little kitten mews coming from below the porch. A week or two after that, Momma Kitty let her kittens explore and play with me. It was noticed that the mother's fur sparkled in the sun, and when she licked my hand, leaving it sparkly, she was named Sparkle Spit. Her little tabby kitten will crawl right up in your lap and bite any wrinkles or creases in your pants. Because of this, she is Captain Spunk. C.P. for short. Captain Spunk's sister is very quiet and timid. She hisses at people a lot, which is odd considering how friendly her sister is. This little one, who is the same creamy orange and white as her mother, is named Spirit. She has a little white streak under each eye, like the ones people put on at ball games with paint.

The little things are adorable. They have short, little tails and are so fluffy. It reminds me of when Insta-Purr and Lil-Bit were that big. Miniature fluff balls of doom. They still leap at one another's  throats for fun. I tend to refer to that as playing Gladiator, or, if they're outside and bouncing off trees, playing Hunger Games.

Family Fun With Boogers

In Elementary, boogers are the grossest things in the world, but somehow funny. I provide you now with a little game. I learned about it when listening to a CD my father was playing. English Majors was the title. The person speaking on the CD at the time said that, in fourth grade, he would take a movie title and replace one word with the word "booger" or "boogers," just to get a laugh from his classmates. This can transfer into a fun car game for long trips or just something to do when you are bored. Here's what I came up with.

Black Boogers (Black Books)

Sky Captain and the Booger of Tomorrow (Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow)

Mountains of Boogers (Mountains of the Moon)

The Secret Life of Boogers (The Secret Life of Bees)

Lonesome Booger (Lonesome Dove)

Booger Grit (True Grit)

O Booger, Where Art Thou? (O Brother Where Art Thou?)

The Booger Princess (The Little Princess)

Finding Boogers (Finding Nemo)

Booger Boy (Steam Boy)

The Dark Booger (The Dark Crystal)
Where the Wild Boogers Are (Where the Wild Things Are)

Kung Fu Booger (Kung Fu Panda)

Pale Booger (Pale Rider)

A Midsummer Night's Booger (A Midsummer Night's Dream)

The Merchant of Boogers (The Merchant of Venice)

Love's Boogers Lost (Love's Labors Lost)

As You Like Boogers (As You Like It)

Rikki-Tikki-Booger (Rikki-Tikki-Tavi)

Little Shop of Boogers (Little Shop of Horrors)

The Remains of the Booger (The Remains of the Day)

The Perfect Booger (The Perfect Score)

A Booger with a View (A Room with a View)

A Room with a Booger (A Room with a View)

Phantom of the Booger (Phantom of the Opera)

Second Hand Boogers (Second Hand Lions)

This isn't a game for just movie titles though. It works just as well with books. If you look at someone's bookshelf and burst into giggles because you did this to their books in your head, people might start thinking you're crazy, unless you explain.

Fellowship of the Booger (Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien)

The Wizard of Boogers (The Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum)

What-the-Booger (What-the-Dickens by Gregory Maguire)

Here There Be Boogers (Here There Be Dragons by James A. Owen)

Booger Rider (Dragon Rider by Cornelia Funke)

The Screwtape Boogers (The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis)

The Amazing Maurice and His Educated Boogers (The Amazing Maurice and His Educated Rodents by Terry Pratchett)

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Booger (Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by J. K. Rowling)

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Boogers (Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets by J. K. Rowling)

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Boogers (Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban by J. K. Rowling)

Harry Potter and the Booger of the Phoenix (Harry Potter and the Booger of the Phoenix by J. K. Rowling)

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Boogers (Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by J. K. Rowling)

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Booger (Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince by J. K. Rowling)

Harry Potter and the Deathly Booger (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J. K. Rowling)

Booger Like This, Cat (It's Like This, Cat by Emily Neville)

The Tales of Booger-the-Pooh (The Tales of Winnie-the-Pooh by Ernest H. Shepherd)

The Hunger Boogers (The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins)

The Booger Games (The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins)

Catching Boogers (Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins)

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

Letter to Comics

Dear Comics,

Do you recall when I would anticipate visiting my grandparents, just so that I could dig you out of the newspaper and curl up on the couch? I haven't forgotten. Stories told in pictures. Laughter brought to light on page. Maybe you were one simple box. Maybe you were several. I grew up borrowing my dad's books of Calvin and Hobbs, completely relating to the ones about the monster's under Calvin's bed and Hobbs's surprise attacks. Insta-Purr does that in the dark when you can't see him, other than his green eyes and white teeth that is.

Hello graphic novels. Which one of you was my first? I think the first I read was my father's Mouse Guard books. I now have nineteen of my own. It's not many, but it's enough for now. I remember sitting before the bookshelves at Borders, shifting through the new ones I hadn't seen before. I will always miss curling up with you there.

At this point I must address webcomics. There are nineteen of you guys currently bookmarked on my computer. Nineteen seems to be my number when it comes to comics, doesn't it? Girl Genius, you get most of the blame for this. If it wasn't for you I would have probably been a little less enthusiastic. Thank you and curse you. I now have a slight addiction.

I cannot write to/about comics without mentioning comic books. Comic books, I'm sorry. I don't have any experience with you, no past to draw happy memories from. Perhaps one day, we will have spent some time together in a nice quiet spot. Until then, I will regret not knowing you.

To all comics, I give a warm thanks. I would have a lot more free time with nothing to do, if I lived in a world without you. Less to read and draw.

Your Friend,

Thursday, May 31, 2012

A Sister And Three Brothers

I poke my head into the room next to mine. My sister is curled up under her covers, her fan off, and her blinds closed. Light still comes through the windows anyway. It doesn't really care if the blinds say no. Light does what it wants for the most part. I can't see her head, her blue comforter covers it. Quietly, I close her door and return to my room. I glance at the mirror. Jeans, t-shirt, wet hair pulled in a braid, and bare feet. Me. My hair, even when dry, is darker than my sister's. I pull back the bangs I grew out. She curls her's and lets them hang on her forehead. How do people think we look the same? I sit down on my bed and try not to cry, thinking about one days I have felt the worst about myself.

My sister had gone on a trip, so I went to church without her. When I walked in, about three or four people immediately told me that they thought that I wouldn't come because my sister wasn't there. I laughed with them and forced myself to maintain eye contact. Opening service went fine, and everyone went to designated rooms for sunday school. I hurried upstairs to the youth room, and waited while everyone else took their time. When we had all found seats, our leader had everyone introduce themselves. We had two visitors. They told us about how they traveled to different low income areas and spread the word to children that may not be able to go to church. We finished our lesson and went downstairs for service. After service, I went to the basement with the rest of the youth to help set things up for the picnic. The two girls I spend the most time with at church called me by my sister's name around ten times and didn't even notice. We sat at the middle picnic table, the whole, regular youth group minus three. My sister, one of my pseudo sisters, and my brother James. We talked and laughed. Well, to be more specific, everyone else talked and I laughed and responded appropriately when expected. After all the food that was going to be eaten was eaten, we set up for a game of capture the flag. When it comes to picking teams, I'm last, just like in elementary. It didn't help my self esteem that two of the players were half my size and age. Just a small fact about picking teams; it doesn't matter if you try your hardest and JoBob barely tries. If JoBob is better and doesn't care, he will be picked before you, even if you do your absolute best. This is because, even if the game is in the name of fun, people are competitive and want to win. It wasn't far into the game that I had to leave. I couldn't help but feel like our visitors disliked me. People give off vibes. Sometimes I pick them up. I cried myself to sleep that night.

I have always had trouble with people mixing me up with my sister. She had trouble too, in elementary, but never as bad as I had it. It never helped that we have the same talents, interests, and style. At home it's nice. We don't argue much, unless I go in her room without permission. I'm fine being so close with her, but it hurts when other people mistake me for her. I don't know if it's because I am an individual work of art by God, or because I know I'm not as good as her. She's patient, kind, a very talented writer, and loved by nearly everyone. I'm not very patient, I have a bit of a temper, I'm not nearly as good a writer as she is, and I read too much into the tone of voice people use when they speak to me. I don't make as good grades as her. One of my friends once said that he purposely made high grades so that people would always compare his younger sister to him. He doesn't understand how unfair that is. He has no older siblings to be compared to.

I'm the baby of the family. The only one that isn't firstborn. My mother was the eldest of three, my father of two, and my sister of the two of us. Even my closest honorary siblings are years older than me. Those are my three brothers: Justin, Jake, and James, in order of age. I see James the most, usually at church. I see Jake maybe once or twice every six months or so. Then I haven't seen Justin for what feels like a year. They weren't born my brothers, but somehow, I feel the need to prove that I'm good enough for the title of little sister that they have given me. I think I'm failing right now. James only talks to me when he sees me. Jake, who used to message me regularly on facebook, hasn't talked to me since he came over a few months ago. He has been texting my sister regularly though. I have heard nothing from Justin except for the fact that he called my sister a while ago. I think the older two might have forgotten about me.

I get off the bed and crouch on the floor, peering beneath. The Lady of Shed-Lots is underneath. I reach out and stroke her. "Will you come out? I need cuddles." I bite back tears. She yawns, stretches, and casually comes out. I pick her up, pressing her brown fur against my face. She lets me. Since I was little she has provided moral support. We call her the momma kitty sometimes. I sit down with her on my lap. It doesn't matter if she sheds on me at this point, I need her love.

To tell the truth, that one day was the only one that I haven't felt welcome at church. It was also the only one that I'd gone there without my sister. I didn't tell her about it. I told James. I needed to tell someone, and I knew he'd listen with open ears and heart. My boyfriend also weaseled it out of me, once he figured out something was wrong.

My cat jumps off my lap and goes back under my bed. It's her new spot. I turn my speakers up a little. Building 429. "Fearfully and wonderfully made. Don't you know that you and I were not a mistake." I bite back tears again. God is the only one that I have never doubted the love of. He has always been there for me. How else could I have made it this far in existence? I would probably be very miserable.

"You will lead us out of the desert. You will hold us when we are weak. Lord, we will rise up, we will rise up to follow our Great King." --Awaken Us by Building 429

Sunday, May 6, 2012

Music, Lots of Links, and a Short Rant on Christianity

Alright. I was going from video to video on youtube, as most of us do, and I nearly squealed when I came across this, a cover song by Owl City of  In Christ Alone. Please understand that I have loved Owl City for some time. I drove my sister crazy with it. My favorite songs are the ones where Christianity is very pronounced, like Tidal Wave, Galaxies, and Angels. After watching the video I googled it to see if there was an album. Then I came across this. At that point I was fairly disappointed that I hadn't discovered that Owl City had done this song before, as I follow the blog.

In truth I came across Owl City's song when watching  the official video for Listen to the Sound by Building 429. My musical library has expanded as of late. Largely I can blame my sister. She's trying her hardest to help me strengthen in Christ. I love her so very much for that. I also admire the bond that she has with our Lord. Many may say that they follow and they believe, but you shouldn't have to ask if someone is a Christian anymore than you should have to ask if what you're looking at is a lizard or a snake. Christians need to stand out. Not only that, but we need to reach out too. Reaching out is the most important thing we are supposed to be doing, but, as one of my friends has often said, "You don't shout out to a drowning man to swim to shore. You go out there and save him."

Saturday, May 5, 2012

Strawbabys (a.k.a. Strawberries)

I love strawberries. When I was little, I would call them "strawbabys". I have no idea why, but it's better than accidentally calling hamburgers "hamboogers", which I also did. There was a strawberry patch in my current backyard actually, until it was run over by a truck. The general consensus was that there would be no more little, tasty (though watery) strawberries. Wednesday, I went to put my items for work in the car so that I could just get in the car and go when it was time to leave for work. It was then that something bright red caught my eye. Intrigued, I ventured forward to the small rectangular patch of miscellaneous short plants. Oh look, little strawberries. How surprised you, my reader, must be. I promptly took the ripe ones of a corner into the house. Eight. One, as big as a store bought strawberry. I ate two, then rebrushed my teeth before work.

 When I returned home I grabbed a bowl and went outside. I do admit that I jumped and drew my hand back from the weed infested strawberry patch more than once for fear of spiders. The bowl was overflowing after I had only combed through the edges. Once inside, two strawberries, one of which was particularly stubborn, kept trying to make a leap for it. I filled the sink a little ways with water, washed them, dried them, and put them in a bigger bowl. I felt very useful.

I apologize for not telling you more, but in truth life has been full of ennui. In fact it is much like the Henri videos. There are two. The part about making new friends reminded me of Lil-Bit. She has the same problem. If you don't recall, Lil-Bit is my calico kitten. She is about two thirds the size of the Lady of Shed-Lots, whom is routinely referred to as "The Meatloaf".

Friday, March 16, 2012

Rapunzel Revealed (The Real Story)

According to the average person the tale of Rapunzel goes as follows (this story was found out BEFORE Disney played with this fairy tale).

Once upon a time there was a princess who was kidnapped and locked in a tower by an evil witch or stepmother (details may vary depending on who you ask) for no apparent reason. The princess had long hair and one day a prince rode by and called out "Rapunzel! Rapunzel! Let down your hair!". The princess lets down her hair, the prince climbs it, falls in love, and rescues her. The way the rescuing works is that there is some sort of dragon, if you are lucky enough to have a way for the princess to escape.

What has this society come to? My mother told me a good versions of fairy tales, when I was little. Let me tell you how the story of Rapunzel goes...

Once upon a time a couple was expecting a baby. They lived next to a witch, but she didn't cause them any trouble. One day the future mother was stricken with a craving for cabbage. She begged and pleaded with her husband to bring her some, but he wouldn't dare for the only cabbage to be had was in the garden of their neighbor, the witch. Finally his wife made her self ill, fretting over her want of cabbage, and the young man climbed over the fence to gather cabbage. Unfortunately for him, the witch flew out of her backdoor in a rage. Hoping for impunity, the soon to be father explained why he was stealing her cabbage. Much to his surprise, the witch told him to go ahead and take the cabbage. As in most fairy tales, this was not without a price. When the baby was born the witch would take her. Considering that the alternative was most likely worse than death, the young man agreed and took the cabbage to his wife.

Not long after, a baby girl was born. The witch appeared almost immediately and pulled the child from her mother. Before she left the little house, she named the baby Rapunzel (which is a type of cabbage for those of you who don't know). Using her magic, the witch created a tower that stood above the trees and the entrance to which was only a window. The witch (we'll call her Prune), kept the baby in this tower. When Rapunzel was little, Prune flew in through the window on her broom stick, but as she grew, so did her hair, until Prune was able to climb up it. Every morning and evening, the old witch would stand at the base of the tower and call out, "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair." Rapunzel was obedient and Prune was sort of kind. Prune would bring her food and brush her long hair. (No, it has nothing to do with magic flowers.)However, Prune would yank the brush though Rapunzel's hair in such a fashion that it caused great pain.

One day, a prince, while he was on his daily ride through the forest, heard the most beautiful sound. He followed it to the source and found a tower with a single window. Whoever sang so beautifully, he knew, must live in that tower. Day after day, the prince would ride to the tower to listen to the marvelous song. After a time he arrived to see Prune say the words that sent Rapunzel's hair tumbling down the side of the tower. Our prince (How about naming him Gregory?)waited until the scary witch left, ran to the base of the tower, and called out, "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!"

Obviously Rapunzel was confused about "Prune" wanting back up so quickly, and even more confused about finding a stranger in her tower. (Remember the only human she remembers having ever seen is Prune.) Eventually Gregory calmed her down, chatted with her and brushed her hair very gently. Every day after that, Rapunzel would let her prince into the tower. Unfortunately, one day as Prune brushed Rapunzel's hair, Rapunzel shrieked in pain,"Ouch! My prince would never brush this hard!" Needless to say, Prune flew into a rage and took out her anger on the cause.

That day Gregory climbed up the tower to find his lady love missing and a fairly scary, ugly witch in her stead. In shock, he stumbled backwards and fell out the window. (Which tells us exactly how ugly Prune was.) The prince landed in the thorn bushes that ringed the base of the tower and was blinded.

Now Rapunzel had had her first haircut and was banished to a desert.It was there that she later came across a blind man that looked remarkably like her prince. Oh wait! It was her prince! Sadly, he could not see her face. In sorrow, she wept, tears landing on his eyes. Remarkably his eyesight healed and her took her off to his castle to be his bride. THE END.

Monday, February 13, 2012

Can You See Me

Can you see me?
Or just a mask?
Everything important tucked away
tucked away
from prying eyes.

When people look at me,
sometimes they see my sister.
They see her mirrored talents
and interests.
I am not my sister.

When people look at me,
sometimes they see my mother.
They see her features
and poetry.
I am not my mother.

When people look at me,
sometimes they see and adult.
They see serious
and intelligent.
I am far from grown.

When people look at me,
they don't see me.
I don't know if anyone can.

I am a little sister,
a daughter,
and a friend.
I am a fairy child,
a dreamer,
and an artist.

Many see shapes or colors,
but they can't see
the picture.
The painting that is me.
They can't see
the centerpiece.

I don't want
for you to look at me.
I want you
to see me.

In my heart
I hold hope and power.
I hold my lord,
my king, and sovereign.

Can you see me?