The Dinosaur

A dinosaur, he sits beneath
A toppled chair, alone –
Abandoned by a little boy
For sake of ice cream cone.

Of Weather, Piano, and Accidental Caffeine Dependency

A year ago, I was a polar bear sliding across the icy terrain of my yard. This year, the weather has been just as temperamental, alternating between the usual freezing temperatures of early March and the warmth of late spring. I prefer the latter. Walking to work in the cold is never fun for me, but I do recognize the beauty of the cold, for if not for red tipped noses and ears, I might not remember to love the kiss of the warming sun on my cheek. On the days when the weather has been pleasant, I walk for about an hour. It's a learning experience in some ways. I'm able to examine myself apart from the constricting world of concrete and right angles, where I am just me. I have learned and been reminded of the following.

• Wild flowers in late winter make me laugh with joy.

• I have a habit of addressing the animals I talk to as Beautiful. (No. They do not talk back.)

• Finding an armadillo makes me ridiculously happy for some unknown reason.

• Downhill was made for running down with reckless abandon.

• God's magic and miracles are everywhere, from the enchanted threads of spiderwebs to the ground that supports the weight of my overflowing heart.

• Outside heals wounds I don't remember I have.

When I'm not outside, I tend to be easily found near a piano, having finally begun learning to play this year. I've been a singer for years, but the piano has always held an enchantment for me. When I was a child, my mother would play piano in our house very rarely, but every time she did, I would hurry over to her as fast as my little legs would carry me. Sometimes, I would sit on the piano bench next to her until I couldn't make myself hold still any longer, but more often, I would dance, imagining a prince or just spinning in endless circles to the point that I either sat down or fell over from dizziness. She would play more often at my great grandmother's home, or my aunt would play. After they left that piano, I would scramble onto the bench and try to play like they had, my feet swinging in the air. Short, disconnected melodies would stumble from my finger tips, but as time went on, I seemed to create more dissonance than harmony, and I eventually left the piano to itself. Even my attempt to teach myself to play when I was in junior high was short lived.

This past fall, I was brought back to the piano, largely by Wolfe. He was a new friend who one day mentioned that he was going to go practice piano, and on a whim, I asked if I could come listen. Eventually, I would regularly join him when he went to practice. As he learned on YouTube to play new pieces of slowly increasing difficulty, I sat on the floor in the corner of the practice room, my head leaning back against the wall, and the piano wrapped me in its familiar voice, singing its ballads and lullabies. Wolfe has told me that he probably would have eventually stopped practicing if I hadn't been coming to listen. Without him, I likely would never have considered trying once more to learn the songs of the piano. Currently, we're taking a beginning level class together, and I am loving it. I find myself increasingly fond of three four time, waltzes in particular, but other pieces as well.

I have officially fallen in love with the piano once more. My sister was apathetic as to this development. However, once I mentioned to her that I was hoping to eventually be able to play theme music from our favorite anime (in particular Mikoto Suoh's theme from K Project), she took a sudden interest in my progress. I look forward to being able to play it for her eventually, but also to be able to play it myself, feeling the motion of the sound and letting it flow through me like electricity through wires.

Also of recent interest, I ran out of my usual morning herbal tea in early January. Mornings, cold ones in particular, tend to be rather hard to face without a warm cup of tea. In the face of the void my herbal left behind, I utilized a box of black tea for the rest of the month. It wasn't too different until I simultaneously ran out of the black tea and gained more of my usual herbal. The Monday I switched back was merely groggy at first, but eventually I became convinced that either my skull was attempting to liquefy or some kind of heavy gremlin was doing its best to wrap its jaws around my head. By evening, I had a low level migraine that was barely fended off by the caffeine in soda. The next day was marginally better, but still painful. That Wednesday, I decided that if my skull was going to throw a temper tantrum, I was not going to give it what it wanted. Thus, I have quit caffeine all together, including black teas and most sodas. I'll likely return to my previous ways in a few weeks (oh how I miss my usual dark sodas and the occasional black tea), but I don't plan on drinking black tea every morning anymore. Coffee is an absolute no. I refuse to start that habit. No matter how lovely it smells, I cannot abide the taste.

A Letter to Tea

My dearest Cup of Tea,

The water is starting to steam. Soon I will venture back to the kitchen, rounding the counter to reach my destination. A kettle will be lifted, and water will spill forward and down into the biggest mug I could find. Then I'll have to leave you until I wander back again, slightly different from only a handful of passing minutes. Funny how that works, isn't it? I'll be the same person, but enough thoughts will have bustled through my brain to alter my mood, even if only by a smidgeon.

Holding the mug, I will feel the warmth sinking silently, softly, into my hands; skin, and then bone, warming at the gentle and firm touch of palm and pottery. The first sip will be tentative, then grateful. My insides will glow with warmth at your sweet touch. You mend all the wrongs in my little universe, even the wrongs that don't really have names and don't really exist anyway.

I stumble down the hall in the mornings to set the kettle on the stove because I love the process of slowly waking up with you in the early hours of day. When I come home, the kettle goes right back on the stove because you melt the day from me, allowing me to remember who I am, who the girl who roams the woods and fields truly is. She's more than reactions, numbers, and words. She is reflective thought and peaceful moments.

There is a special little gift you give me, my friend. You let me just exist rather than do, allow me to ponder, muse, and dream without the pressures of the world. Thank you for that.

Forever yours,
Kara

A December Update

This is not going to be one of the stunning posts, just a warning in case you read through this expecting an astounding conclusion and, in your bitter disappointment, decide to revolt.

A few days after Letter to Green Bean Casserole, my mother decided to make a green bean casserole. I may or may not have consumed roughly half. It was glorious.

I've been rereading George MacDonald's Phantastes, and, as I also recently watched the Jim Henson movie Labyrinth, I'm toying with writing a research paper on Fairyland being a medium for growing up in stories. It's an exciting proposition. I could use Phantastes, "Goblin Market", The Chronicles of Narnia, Peter Pan, and other wonderful works of literature. That may not be until the summer, however. And speaking of papers, Ace informed me that he fully intends to post the paper he mentioned in his last update. It is on the topic of sexism in video games, and while I don't game myself, I am interested in the topic. 

Recently, I widened my internet presence. I decided to use the name Onevartist, for the simple reason that it will be easier to find than Kara Smith (apparently there are a lot of us). I have a deviantArt and a Google+. Yay. I have a YouTube as well, and I'm hoping to post bible study videos in a few years, with the help of my friend Christian, but as of yet I haven't posted anything there.

Well, I do believe I have exhausted my supply of relevant information. Stay warm this winter. I'll do my best to post again later this month.

Thanksgiving Again

It snowed today. I woke up to see huge, fat flakes meandering their way down. This lasted for two or three hours before it promptly melted. No winter wonderland for exploring just yet.

In a few hours, it will be Thanksgiving. There aren't really many songs for this holiday, except the few designed for elementary students. Why? Because it's hard to sell products on a day when we are to be thankful for what we have. Why else does Christmas music invade our homes earlier and earlier? Anyway, it has been a while since my last list. I am a blessed child of God, and I will not turn a blind eye to the blessings he bestows upon me.

1. Amazing parents who have raised me in Christ's ways and who love me dearly
2. Being near my big sister after a month of her absence
3. Being able to talk to my sister with nothing held back, just like when we were little, despite the little time we are able to spend together these days
4. Staying up late with my sister last night
5. My close friend Christian and his amazing taste in music
6. The music Christian gave me on a flash drive that made my day last week
7. My Lizzy kitten (Lil-Bit) who curls up with me every night, sometimes even under the covers
8. My church family
9. Being told by one of my church members that when she looks at me, she sees my great grandma (who was an extraordinary christian woman)
10. Big brothers who treat me like their own blood
11. My visit with Ace and Kirito yesterday
12. The christian webcomic From Nothing
13. Hugs
14. Music
15. Books
16. Naps
17. Art
18. Chocolate
19. More chocolate

Tomorrow, I will visit with family and celebrate the many, many blessings my Lord has showered on me and mine, but in the following days, I won't forget my blessings, and I will continue to try my best to be a blessing to others and show them the love of the King through me.

Happy Thanksgiving, and have safe travels.

Letter to Green Bean Casserole

Dear Green Bean Casserole,

It was a pleasant surprise to be able to renew our acquaintance at the church dinner. As of late, we have been quite out of touch, which is unforgivable on my part. Indeed, I had forgotten how thoroughly I enjoy your good company. It was a pity that you were unable to extend your stay more than a few minutes. We did used to be such good friends.

Part of my purpose in writing you is to extend an invitation to Thanksgiving dinner with my family. You would be most welcome to join us, and my sister would be exceptionally pleased to see you again as well. I will personally ensure that there are enough plates. Our mutual friend Turkey has already told me that his attendance is assured, and Stuffing is eager to hear from you. I do so hope you will come.

Hope to eat see you soon,
Kara

Summer Ramblings

Right. I should probably post something.

Hello again. Not much has happened recently in ways of adventure, which I regret. I probably need to do something to fix that. Little things have been happening though. I made pudding recently, and I am pleased to inform you that there were no spiders involved. Not that the world has been spider free, mind you. They've certainly been popping up here and there: the back of my bedroom door, a few times on the living room floor, on the wall, and, the most nerve racking spot, the ceiling.

Also, I now have a laptop, finally. My computer was a Dell that was maybe fourteen years old. It ran 2003 Word at any rate. The laptop is also a Dell, her name is MollyHooper, and I love her very much. Unfortunately, she already has a smattering of cat hair on her, but in this house that really can't be helped. As a result of having Molly, I probably spend a little too much time online. Okay, not probably, I do. A few days ago, I watched ten episodes straight of Sword Art Online, an anime that came highly recommended by the youngest two of my older brothers. I agree with them that it is amazing and I understand that many people spend far more time online and could watch probably the entire show in one sitting, but I can't. Even not watching videos or playing games, spending too long in front a screen will give me a nasty headache, and I've learned from experience that those headaches will persist into migraines. One particularly nasty headache that didn't quite make it to the migraine rating was induced by watching all of Attack on Titan with a friend. I was enough out of sorts to not feel like eating much, but I doubt I would have felt up to eating even without the headache. If you've seen it, you'll understand perfectly. In a way the headaches are good thing. I do things other than stare at a screen like drawing, sleeping, and reading. At my father's recommendation, I've started investing time in his collection of Cherie Priest's books, beginning with Four and Twenty Blackbirds, which I've almost finished.

I've been journaling more frequently. Still not quite daily, but it's an improvement, much the same as my blogging: more frequent than before, but not as frequent as I'd like.

A nice thing about summer is that I seem to have more time to see with my poet eyes, as my mother would say. Usually this means I run around barefoot in the grass, clutching my camera. I may post some more pictures, seeing as it is easier to transfer pictures from camera to computer, now that I have Molly. We'll see.

I feel like I've cheated. This isn't really a blog post.

This is a blog post. Rambling is not cheating.

Bygone Morning Rituals

In lower elementary, every day started in the same promising manner. My mom would put our clothes on top of the heater and go upstairs to wake up my sister and me. By the time we were out of bed, our clothes were warm, as if straight from the dryer. Breakfast was served in a little white bowl with ivy vine decorations on it. It was plain white rice, but it wasn't nearly as boring as one would suppose. I would take my spoon and dig a trench across the middle. It was for a road or a canal. I'd pat the walls smooth with the back of my spoon. Sometimes the walls were structurally unsound and collapsed. I decided that there were little rice people casualties, and mercifully disposed of their bodies. Some days we'd have toast, cut diagonally. I always ate the ones with the round corner first. My sister always ate the ones with the pointed corner first. I always had a glass of water, and my sister always had a glass of milk. I often mentioned to her that if people don't drink water, they die. She never paid attention to my heartfelt warnings. When we got to school, she'd walk me down the halls to my classroom and give me a hug by the door, if no one was around.

These days, I have to get up, find clothes, and fix food on my own. I recognize that my mother had some mystical ability that allowed her to get both of us ready in only an hour. We dragged our feet a lot and stopped to chatter at her quite often. I'm surprised she didn't make us fend for ourselves. I know she was tempted to sometimes. I'm glad she didn't.

Also, I have just blogged! Hah! I need to work on that. I started to do the weekly quotes to make sure I blogged more often. It's not working that well, so I may stop posting those. I don't know. That will be in deliberation.

Spider Slayer's Log: Kara Smith

Day 1: Preparing for rest, a nemesis was discovered about a foot from the end of the bed. After the initial shock, he was smashed with a flip-flop, which was left beside the bed in case of other emergencies.
Total Spiders Killed: 1

Day 2: Around midday, as I was folding laundry, a spider had the guts to dash into a folded towel. While my sister found it humorous that I would have to refold it, I had no qualms about shaking the spider out and unfolding the towel in the process. I crushed the exoskeletoned offender with a coaster and refolded my towel. He wouldn't have the guts to do anything again, especially since he doesn't have guts at this point.
It was in the evening. Jake had come over to visit and was getting up to leave when I saw another one. It was a big brown grass spider, not far from where Jake had been sitting. Jake, being the brave older brother that he is, hurried to the next room and left me to kill it with his shoe. It's odd sometimes to be reminded that he's more scared of them than I am.
Total Spiders Killed: 3

Day 3: I was in the bathroom around seven in the morning preping for a shower. I didn't notice it until I almost stepped on it. It was a brown recluse because what else would it be. I darted to the sink counter, where there were a range of bottles and jars that would do very well, but by the time I had a weapon, it had crawled down the heat vent. However, while it did scare the wits out of me, I must have stepped on it a little because it had left a leg on the bathroom floor.
Total Spiders Killed: Not enough, not nearly enough

Day 4: No spiders encountered. They're plotting. I know it.
Total Spiders Killed: Unchanged

Day 5: About two in the afternoon, I set out to make chocolate pudding. I took a mixer thing out of the bowl, so that I wouldn't pour milk and powder all over it, and grabbed the whisk. I was about to put the whisk in place when I saw him. He was big, and he was a spider. He was also a brown recluse that couldn't climb back out because the sides of the bowl were too steep. I was in shock and completely terrified for a moment, but a song poped in my head, and by humming it, I was able to calm down enough to think clearly. I was not about to put my hand in there with it, even on the premise of killing it. Instead, I sprayed poison on it, in the bowl I was about to make pudding in, and waited for it to die. Once it had stopped twitching, I dumped it in the trash and set about washing the bowl. It was about then, as I was scrubbing like the bowl was coated in spider webs, that I realised which song had been in my head. Lead Me To The Cross by Newsboys. It was from the album In The Hands Of God. That made me feel happy. My Father and Lord loves me and reminded me that he wouldn't let anything hurt me if it wasn't part of his plan by putting a simple song in my mind and heart.
On another note, the pudding turned out great.
Total Spiders Killed: 4

Day 16?: I was in the bathroom, about to brush my teeth, when a spider apeared beside my bare foot. It was a brown recluse, and it was missing legs. It had three on one side and two on another. I'm fairly certain that he was the one that menaced me on day three. I crushed him with a can of hair spray. It was fairly satisfying. I wiped him off the floor and the can, and felt a small sense of closure.
Total Spiders Killed: 5

The College Kid

I have recently come across a conversation I had had with my sister, after her first visit home from college. I had jotted it down in a notebook.

My sister: I want real food.

Me: Well, there's meat thawing, but...

My sister: Cheez-Its.....

Me: That's not real food.

My sister: Cheez-Its.....

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,
Kara

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".

A Late Update On Goings On

Technically this post is not late. We are currently in a time referred to as the Holidays. Holidays. Plural. Thanksgiving is a part of that. I made deviled eggs with my mother, before visiting my grandparents, that were very tasty. The Sunday after Thanksgiving I made deviled eggs entirely on my own. They did not turn out as planned. There was too much vinegar. My father didn't mind. Black Friday was spent at home with my brother, avoiding the Black (Friday) Plague.

We have two new additions in our household collection of felines. A black male kitten named Insta-Purr and a calico female kitten called Lil-Bit. The Lady of Shed-Lots is not pleased with the kittens and hisses anytime an encounter occurs.

Attack of the Killer Migraine

Monday I spent all day on the computer. That was not a smart idea. I left the screen to eat my dinner and noticed a small blur that was vaguely lemon shaped in the corner of my vision on the right side. It grew and grew until I was robbed of my right peripheral vision. It's called an aura. They usually show up before you have a migraine. I took medication, took the thickest blanket off of my bed, moved the fan as close as possible to the bed, and turned the fan on high, before I went to bed. I tried to sleep, but I couldn't. The migraine mercilessly commenced to keep me awake and in great pain.

Ever since I was little I have kept a plastic bucket beside my bed. I still do. This bucket is called my Barf Buddy. Barf Buddy came in handy Monday night. I sat up and opened my mouth over the bucket I clutched in my hands. Barf does not need help coming out. It never has. The most you can do is open your mouth and hope it doesn't get everywhere. Between waves of barf, I made my way to the bathroom, lifted the toilet lid, and redirected the vomit from my bucket to the toilet. I continued to barf and at one point it came up so hard some went out my nose. When my body had decided it was done, I tried to flush it down.

The toilet did not want to swallow my stomach contents. I could relate, but never the less, I grabbed the plunger and commenced to force it down the porcelain throat. There was one part of my former food that really did not want to go down. After consulting my sister, it was discovered to be a tomato skin or at least part of one. I cleaned up my Barf Buddy and went to the kitchen for some ice water.

My father came up the stairs and asked if I was okay. I told him I was. We stood there for a moment. Him, looking at me in the concerned way fathers do and me, drinking my ice water. I eventually went back to bed and finally fell asleep. I don't know what time I fell asleep, but I woke up around eleven.

I spent the day on the recliner with my sister watching me. For the first half hour it was nice to have her do stuff for me to spare me from the sudden throbbing pain quick movement caused me. In the middle of the movie Labyrinth (The volume was down low because if it was loud enough my brain would melt.) I stood up to fetch myself a glass of ice water. My sister protested, gently pushed me back down, and went to get the glass herself. At that moment I decided that a bowl of sandwich meat would be tasty. I stood back up and went to the kitchen. As soon as my sister heard the bowl clinking against the others, she spun around and glared at me. To put it simply she tried to force me back to the chair and I refused, shouting, "I'm an independent young woman!". She, of course, responded with, "You're not a young woman!" I still won and ended up with my meat. Considering my battle won, I let her be my slave, but only because she wanted to be and my head was hurting.

When my father returned I had had a bowl of lunch meat, a glass of chocolate milk, several glasses of water, and a package of saltine crackers. I was not allowed on the computer all day in case it triggered a relapse. I am now allowed on the computer for short periods of time.

Let me describe to you what a migraine feels like. If you have had a migraine then you don't need to read this to understand the blog post tile. A migraine will usually start with a subtle sign. Some people (like me) have auras, which are little shimmery things in the corner of your vision. Others have other signs that I don't know about. Once you have noticed your sign you need to take medication. Do not tell yourself that you can tough it out. I thought I could in eight grade and it was NOT pretty. I threw up in a trashcan during a presentation about unicorns. If you take your medication and lie down in a dark quiet room to sleep for a couple hours, like my mother made me during my first migraine, it will pass a lot easier. Now we get to the migraine itself. I'll just describe it with medication, but still awake.

Saying that a migraine is just a magnified head ache is not a good description. Close your eyes and have someone read the following aloud to you if you want, it might make it easier. Imagine a thick black wall from overhead. Inside the wall is light. Outside is a pale pink mist with red tendrils floating in it. This is your mind normally. Now the red grows. It becomes solid and pushes against the wall with all of its strength. The wall cracks. Light spills out of the cracks. The red doesn't stop there. It forms large daggers and pushes them through the wall. In some places the wall shatters. Pain. Hot searing pain is all your mind can recognize. You will not be able to tie your shoes as thoughtlessly as normal. You have to put all of your focus into it and watch where the strings are going and what they're doing.

That is a migraine.

Deviled Eggs And Cupcakes

Happy Fourth of July!!!!! I personally count the fourth as one of my top holidays. It's right up there with Christmas and Thanksgiving, just above my birthday. This is because the Fourth is on of the few times when my mother makes deviled eggs. I've done the math (what little there is to do) and she only makes them twice a year. For someone who is a great fan of her deviled eggs, this small but true fact is pure torture. This year she also made cupcakes. Yes, cupcakes, those glorious little cakes shaped like cups!

My town celebrated the fourth last night. My family chose to celebrate on the same day. We converged to devour the food that our households had contributed to. For some odd reason, I have a reputation involving the disappearances of several deviled eggs. I have no idea why. This year however, I decided to help my mother in the preparation of these eggs of deliciousness.

Around noon yesterday, my mother announced that she was going to take a nap and would prepare the deviled eggs when she woke up. Seeing as the eggs had already been boiled and I had nothing to do, she informed me that I was to shell the eggs while she napped. My mother, being the kindly woman she is, showed me how to shell the eggs in case I had forgotten. She liberated a few from the confines of their shells and retired to her room.

I eagerly cracked the shell of one egg until it was covered with little lines, and began to tear the shell away. Unfortunately, a great deal of egg white peeled off too, so that, when I had finished, the egg was considerably smaller than and not as smooth as the eggs my mother had peeled. Valiantly, I continued on with my work. I finally began to shell the eggs rather well, so well in fact that I decided to do it with my eyes closed. The first blindly shelled egg seemed to have survived, pleased, I began the next one. When I had finished that egg, I looked down in dismay. Due to my longish fingernails and my lack of attention, I had exposed the yolk. I placed the egg with the others, horrified at what I had done to its innocent white protective layer. The rest of the eggs that I shelled survived with considerably less trauma.

My mother slept on while I arranged all 24 eggs on a tea towel to dry. I was going to do a 4x8 rectangle, but I decided to sort the injured from the perfectly shelled. I ended up with two 3x4 rectangles. Obviously, my technique needs work. I retired to my father's arm chair and read until the time my mother had informed me to wake her.

I slipped through her doorway and heard a faint snore. I smiled. She wasn't even under her covers. Instead, she had pulled an extra blanket from the foot of the bed over her. I looked at her for a moment, at her hair strewn across the pillow, and the rise and fall of the blanket covering her while she breathed.

"Mom." The words echoed around me so soon after I had uttered them. I was filled with memories of sneaking downstairs late at night and going to her room. The single word, "Mommy," would wake her instantly and she would open up the covers for me to climb in with her, the warm blankets closing around me, protecting me from the vicious shadows.

These days, as she no longer needs to fend off the monsters of nightmares, it takes a little more than a single word, quietly spoken to rouse her. I walked over and sat down on the bed next to her. The shift in weight on the bed woke her and she opened her eyes and looked at me. I informed her of the time and she nodded her head wisely. I left her to finish waking completely.

The back door was soon opened and closed to allow me to escape the confines of the house. I sat on the stairs of the porch. The cats, Sir. Shed-A-Lot and The Lady of Shed-Lots, both sauntered up to me and demanded attention. I happily did as ordered. By the time I thought Mom had gone to the kitchen, I was wondering if you can get fur burn. It is much like a rug burn, only one gets it from petting a cat or other furry pet for long periods of time.

I returned to the kitchen in time to see my mom put something in the blender. I looked at the eggs. She gently reminded me of the procedures (last time I made deviled eggs I was eight or nine) and showed me which knife she thought was appropriate. We merrily went about our work. Mom working with the cupcakes and me cutting the eggs in half and dropping the round yolk into a largish bowl. Two halves were too badly damaged to make suitable deviled eggs and had to be sacrificed to the monster that had cut them in half in the first place.

We finally came to the part where my mother and I made the center stuff. One deviled egg split and we hurriedly thrust it into the hands of my father, who was innocently passing by.

"Eat it fast!" My mother cried.

"Whoa!" My father had taken the egg and finally registered that the filling was spilling into his hands. The whole egg disappeared into his mouth quite quickly.

The rest of the evening went by rather uneventfully. We met the rest of the family (that could come) at the normal spot. There were a few stories told, including the time my sister made lemon bars that tasted like chicken, and we watched a movie before heading home.

That brings us to this morning. I woke up and decided that I didn't want to sleep anymore for the night. Little kids aren't the only ones with nightmares. It was 6:21. I usually wake up several hours later during the summer, but I didn't want to risk having anymore bad dreams. I rolled out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen. My breakfast consisted of a glass of chocolate milk and three deviled eggs. I curled up in the recliner and read a book after consuming the most important meal of the day.

My sister came by, gave me a curious glance, and passed on. My father didn't even fully notice me until the third time he passed. When my mother came by for the second time I sweetly informed her that I had eaten breakfast and inquired how long she thought my father would stay in his room with the door closed. My mother is a wise woman and knows me well. She asked what I wanted to do that I didn't want him to know about. I said one word, "Cupcakes?" and my mother nodded, informed me that I could have one and that if my father came out of his room I could go hide in her room and that was it. She went to her lair and I choose a cupcake.

No sooner had I sat down, then my father's door opened and he emerged. I leapt to my feet, held the cupcake behind me, and giggled. I do not know why I giggled, as I had not even put my nose close to smell the icing yet. My father went into the bathroom. I wasted no time in dashing to my mother's room. I perched upon her bed and separated the wrapper and cupcake with surgical precision. Once the cupcake was no more, I returned to the livingroom where I found a traitorous act in the making.

My sister was talking with my father and telling him that I had gone to Mom's room with the cupcake and that I had my mother's permission. I hurried to my mother and told her that my sister had sold us out. Mom and I went upstairs to confront the sister. I confronted from behind the mother as older sisters are something to be mortified of. We relaxed after a moment and and my mother reminded me that I couldn't have another cupcake until after lunch. I couldn't help it.

"I don't need another one. I'm sweet enough already."

After my mother and sister finished laughing, my mother informed me that I got that from my father.