Once there lived a girl named Daisy. She had golden hair, green eyes, and porcelain skin. Her father was a wood cutter, and he loved her very much. Anytime she went to play in the forest, he cautioned her to be careful and not to wander too far. He died when she was seven. Now, Daisy had a brown tabby cat that she loved with all her heart. The day her father died, she wept and wept, but her cat pawed at her arm and said, "Get to your feet, Child. You must find your way in the world, or there'll be no food for either of us.
"But Kitty," the young girl sniffled, "I have no skills with which to make my way."
"Hush now, pack your clothes and any food you can find." Kitty said, "I know where we can find work, but it may take a few nights to reach. When you're packed, go to sleep, for the path may only be seen in moonlight."
Daisy did as she was told and soon was fast asleep. She awoke to the calling of Kitty and hurried to her.
"It's time to leave. Are you afraid?"
"No, Kitty. I am not afraid."
With that, the two slipped into the night, following a moon milk silver path. They silently stole past the sleeping doe, the hunting wolf, and the singing insects, as they entered the woods. It was hours before either spoke, but Daisy finally did.
"Kitty, where is it we will find work?"
"At the Fairy Queen's palace, Little One," Kitty purred.
These words Daisy took to heart, for the Queen of fairies was said to be the kindest and most beautiful being. No human had ever found her palace, but Daisy trusted Kitty more than anyone else, so she picked up her pace and followed the cat as diligently as ever. For many more hours, they walked.
"Oh Kitty!" Daisy finally burst, "I am so thirsty. Please let us rest for a spell."
"Dear child," the cat responded, "we mustn't stop yet. A little bag of water is in your pack. Drink from it."
Daisy did as she was told, and not long after, they reached a little glade.
"Here we will rest." Kitty said, and rest they did, until the next day's sun set in the west.
"Wake, Child. We must be on our way."
They walked for hours and hours in silence until Daisy cried out to Kitty, "Oh Kitty! I am so hungry. Please let us rest for a spell."
But Kitty replied, "Dear child, we mustn't stop yet. There is food in your pack. Eat of that."
Daisy did as she was told, and not long after, they reached a second little glade.
"Here we will rest." Kitty said, and rest they did, until the next day's sun set in the west. Then they awoke and continued on their way. They walked for longer than they had either night before, and Daisy began to be afraid that they would never stop. "Oh Kitty," she wept, "I am so tired. Please let us rest for a spell."
"Dear child," Kitty whispered, "we mustn't stop yet. A little farther, I beg you."
And so Daisy continued on, weeping, for her shoes were worn to tatters and her legs could barely support her, but it was not long after that they reached a third little glade where Kitty told her to rest. It was when the next day's sun was high that Kitty woke Daisy.
"Child," she purred, "we are nearly at the Fairy Queen's palace. We must now follow the path lined with rose bushes."
In moments, they reached the palace. There they were given baths, food, and a good night's sleep. The next day, they had an audience with the Queen, who was as lovely as any story and more. She had the longest golden tresses, that rivaled the sun; violet eyes, that inspired song; and a smile like every mother's. Upon hearing of Daisy's predicament, she insisted on being of help. It was thus that, as long as Daisy helped the maids wherever she could, she would be provided with food, an education, and a place to sleep. Kitty was also provided with food and was allowed to sleep with Daisy, if she kept the mouse and rat population to a minimum. They lived there happily for many years, and Daisy grew into a beautiful young woman.
She was out in the forest one day, gathering berries, when she saw a magnificent grasshopper caught in a web. Her heart ached with sympathy, and she cut him loose.
"Thank you fair maiden," he said with a bow, "What can I do to repay you?"
"Nothing is needed," the sweet Daisy replied
"Then take this crown, for I am the King of grasshoppers, and when you need me, put it on your little finger, and I will be there."
"Thank you very much." Daisy took the crown, put it in her pocket, and continued along.
The next day, she was sent to the fairy market. On her way down the path, Daisy heard a frog crying at the bank of a pond
"Whatever is the matter?" she asked.
"I was playing with my silver ball, but when I threw it into the air, it became lodged in that tree above us, and now I can't reach it."
"Oh." Daisy said. She looked up and spotted the ball. It was just out of her reach. Refusing to give up, for a weeping frog is the most heart wrenching sound, Daisy picked up a stick and poked at the ball until it fell to the ground, where the frog happily reclaimed it.
"Thank you so much!" he croaked, "As heir to the amphibian throne, I vow that, should you ever need my assistance in return, you need only drop a pebble in this pond."
"Thank you," Daisy said, and she picked up a pebble and slipped it in her pocket.
A week later, she was tending the fire in the great hall after everyone else had gone to bed, when she saw something moving in the flames. A salamander had become trapped when a piece of wood fell on top of his tail.
Taking the poker, Daisy lifted the wood just long enough for the salamander to crawl out.
"Many thanks, I don't know how long I would have been trapped, if not for you," he gasped.
"It was the least I could do." she assured him.
"My kingdom and I are in debt to you," he said, "Take this piece of charcoal, and, if you ever need my help, throw it into a fire."
She graciously accepted the gift and slid it into her pocket. It was months before she ever needed any of their help.
It came to pass that the Fairy Queen called Daisy into the throne room.
"Dearest Daisy," the Queen said, "my cousin seeks a bride, and you are kind, beautiful, and true to your word. I do not know of a better bride. If you are willing, he has set three tasks that you must complete, for his bride must be worthy."
"I would love nothing more." Daisy replied, for the Queen's cousin was rumored to be a true and wise gentleman.
"The first task is to raise an army that is small but large. He will be here in the morning."
Later in the day, Daisy related all of this to Kitty, who softly replied, "Call upon the Grasshopper King. I have a plan for you."
So Daisy placed the crown on her little finger, and Kitty explained her plan to him.
The next day, the Queen's cousin was greeted by an army of grasshoppers, riding steeds of mice. They numbered in the thousands, and he consented that, although they were small, they certainly made a large army. He then set the next task: to bring forth a wonderful sound from an unconventional orchestra. She had two weeks time.
Daisy didn't need Kitty's advice this time. She hurried down to the frog prince's pond and dropped the pebble in.
"How may I help you?" he burbled, for his mouth was still partly underwater.
"I need your finest musicians to play a song at the palace of the Fairy Queen in two weeks time. I hope I'm not asking too much."
"Consider it done."
And indeed, in two weeks, everyone in the palace was drawn to the windows by the sweetest sound. The fairy children rushed to the courtyard and tried to dance like adults. The adults closed their eyes and let the sounds wash over them.
"Well done," the Fairy Queen's cousin told Daisy, "Tomorrow, you will answer a riddle."
The next morning, Daisy was brought to the throne room.
"Tell me," the Queen's cousin began, "What burns in our homes, out of our homes, and is not fire? What has a heart and a mind, but is rarely seen?"
Daisy thought and was at a loss until she felt the charcoal in her pocket. Then she laughed. "The answer is that which is lost in legend, the salamander."
After she returned to her room, she threw the charcoal into the fire and thanked the Salamander King for his help.
The morning of the wedding, which was to be a grand affair with fairies, grasshoppers, amphibians, and salamanders in attendance, Daisy stood by a window alongside Kitty.
"Are you afraid?" Kitty asked.
"Yes, Kitty. I am very afraid."
"You needn't be, for I will be with you always."
And she was.
Monday, May 27, 2013
Friday, May 17, 2013
Letter to Fitted Sheets
Dear F. S.,
While I admit that you do seem difficult to manage at first, you truly are a friend.
I pulled you from your temporary home and fluffed you out. What pains had gone into folding you? Instead of landing on my mattress like planned, you settled on my head. I burst into laughter. Was it the weather or the general good day? No. No such dry and logical grownup reason as that. You'd tickled my childhood, memories of pillow and blanket forts, of making a cave from blankets on the bed by use of the fan, of secret B.A.C. meetings with my sister, though I have by now forgotten what B.A.C. stood for.
I just wanted to thank you for that cool wave of joy that flooded through me when you touched the crown of my head. While you were not specifically in my childhood, you called my attention back to those happy summer days. Thank you.
Your friend and ally,
Kara
While I admit that you do seem difficult to manage at first, you truly are a friend.
I pulled you from your temporary home and fluffed you out. What pains had gone into folding you? Instead of landing on my mattress like planned, you settled on my head. I burst into laughter. Was it the weather or the general good day? No. No such dry and logical grownup reason as that. You'd tickled my childhood, memories of pillow and blanket forts, of making a cave from blankets on the bed by use of the fan, of secret B.A.C. meetings with my sister, though I have by now forgotten what B.A.C. stood for.
I just wanted to thank you for that cool wave of joy that flooded through me when you touched the crown of my head. While you were not specifically in my childhood, you called my attention back to those happy summer days. Thank you.
Your friend and ally,
Kara
Sunday, April 28, 2013
A Most Sincere Letter to Pinterest
Pinterest,
We've gotten to know each other very well in the last few months, and I find you to be more amiable than facebook. I haven't been as amazing a friend to you as you are to me, but that's because it's difficult with you being a website and all. Even so, I find that I spend inordinate amounts of time with you. If you were a person, we'd probably get along quite well.
It's just, well, I need to spend more time doing things instead of looking at pretty pictures. It's not that you're without your uses. I'll still visit for artistic purposes and practical household advice, but even though you can steal hours of my day, you can make me smile. I promise to still visit.
Yours truly,
Kara
We've gotten to know each other very well in the last few months, and I find you to be more amiable than facebook. I haven't been as amazing a friend to you as you are to me, but that's because it's difficult with you being a website and all. Even so, I find that I spend inordinate amounts of time with you. If you were a person, we'd probably get along quite well.
It's just, well, I need to spend more time doing things instead of looking at pretty pictures. It's not that you're without your uses. I'll still visit for artistic purposes and practical household advice, but even though you can steal hours of my day, you can make me smile. I promise to still visit.
Yours truly,
Kara
Thursday, April 25, 2013
If My Feet Were My Children, They Would Be Taken By Social Services.
You laugh now, but after this week, I'm fairly certain that title is accurate. First was last Saturday, a blow to my right foot (A is for April. B is for Bee.) and then there was Monday, to balance it out.
I was walking from the kitchen to my room. It is something I have done so many times that I can often do it with my eyes closed (I get bored.), but Monday night I slammed my toes into my mother's hope-chest, and I had my eyes open. As with all times when any foot is slammed into furniture, the foot's owner briefly considered amputation. I managed to limp to my room, preserving my dignity the best I could, by leaning heavily on silence and my right foot. I plopped onto my chair and became a little befuddled when I noticed a piece of plastic or tape stuck to my little left toe. I swung my foot onto my lap. That was no plastic. That was a lovely, thick slice of skin from my little left toe. ...Ow. I tried to see if it went down between my toes where the blood was, or if it was from the tip of the toe. I couldn't tell, so I limped to my mother to file a verbal injury claim. She inspected it, but was also at a loss as to which part of the toe the hanging skin was on. I went to the bathroom and sat on the floor with my equipment. Band-Aids? Check. Neosporin? Check. Why I didn't think to take a wet Q-tip and clean off the blood is beyond me. I rubbed the medicated cream on the side and top of the toe and applied Band-Aids to both parts. It throbbed terribly, but I'd survive.
As I had bandaged my wound I had started to feel warm. By the time I had gotten back to the kitchen to take care of the cat's litter box, I was having trouble seeing out of my right peripheral vision and felt unbearably hot. I also felt light headed. My mother said she'd finish my chores and told me to never become a doctor if this was how my body reacted. I managed to drift off, but I continued to frequently wake up and have trouble going back to sleep. About 2:30 a.m. I went to the bathroom and sat in front of the toilet, taking deep breaths. I didn't throw up, and once I was certain that I wouldn't, I went out to the garage and grabbed a Barf Buddy. I'm so glad that I had that foresight. Around half an hour later, I woke up and felt my mouth making more saliva than normal, a warning sign. I grabbed Barf Buddy and threw up then rushed to the bathroom and threw up some more. I waited awhile to see if I was done before I cleaned up and moved to the kitchen, where I sat at the table with a glass of water and faithful Barf Buddy. I texted my mother two words. "Threw up." A moment later she was there, despite the fact that I woke her at three thirty in the morning. She expressed concern and told me not to try going to work the next day. I was perfectly fine with that. My head was throbbing like nobody's business.
The next day I slept on and off, occasionally eating crackers and sipping on ginger ale soda, doing my best to ignore my aching head and throbbing foot. My mother thinks I had a 24 hour bug, but I'm thinking migraine, triggered by extreme toe damage. Alright, maybe not extreme, but painful. Considering the temporary loss of peripheral vision, which is one of my warning signals for a migraine, and the fact that at no point did I have a temperature, my theory is looking pretty good.
I have since learned that the loss of skin was at the end of my toe and that the blood on the side was just the blood that had flowed out of the wound. It is perfectly fine, just like the bottom of my right foot. After this week, one question really needs to be brought up. Should I keep on at least socks, shoes if I'm out of the house, since I seem to be a bit accident prone recently? The answer is probably yes, but I probably won't. I am the fairy child. If the weather is nice and I'm not going in public, there is no way I will be shod.
I was walking from the kitchen to my room. It is something I have done so many times that I can often do it with my eyes closed (I get bored.), but Monday night I slammed my toes into my mother's hope-chest, and I had my eyes open. As with all times when any foot is slammed into furniture, the foot's owner briefly considered amputation. I managed to limp to my room, preserving my dignity the best I could, by leaning heavily on silence and my right foot. I plopped onto my chair and became a little befuddled when I noticed a piece of plastic or tape stuck to my little left toe. I swung my foot onto my lap. That was no plastic. That was a lovely, thick slice of skin from my little left toe. ...Ow. I tried to see if it went down between my toes where the blood was, or if it was from the tip of the toe. I couldn't tell, so I limped to my mother to file a verbal injury claim. She inspected it, but was also at a loss as to which part of the toe the hanging skin was on. I went to the bathroom and sat on the floor with my equipment. Band-Aids? Check. Neosporin? Check. Why I didn't think to take a wet Q-tip and clean off the blood is beyond me. I rubbed the medicated cream on the side and top of the toe and applied Band-Aids to both parts. It throbbed terribly, but I'd survive.
As I had bandaged my wound I had started to feel warm. By the time I had gotten back to the kitchen to take care of the cat's litter box, I was having trouble seeing out of my right peripheral vision and felt unbearably hot. I also felt light headed. My mother said she'd finish my chores and told me to never become a doctor if this was how my body reacted. I managed to drift off, but I continued to frequently wake up and have trouble going back to sleep. About 2:30 a.m. I went to the bathroom and sat in front of the toilet, taking deep breaths. I didn't throw up, and once I was certain that I wouldn't, I went out to the garage and grabbed a Barf Buddy. I'm so glad that I had that foresight. Around half an hour later, I woke up and felt my mouth making more saliva than normal, a warning sign. I grabbed Barf Buddy and threw up then rushed to the bathroom and threw up some more. I waited awhile to see if I was done before I cleaned up and moved to the kitchen, where I sat at the table with a glass of water and faithful Barf Buddy. I texted my mother two words. "Threw up." A moment later she was there, despite the fact that I woke her at three thirty in the morning. She expressed concern and told me not to try going to work the next day. I was perfectly fine with that. My head was throbbing like nobody's business.
The next day I slept on and off, occasionally eating crackers and sipping on ginger ale soda, doing my best to ignore my aching head and throbbing foot. My mother thinks I had a 24 hour bug, but I'm thinking migraine, triggered by extreme toe damage. Alright, maybe not extreme, but painful. Considering the temporary loss of peripheral vision, which is one of my warning signals for a migraine, and the fact that at no point did I have a temperature, my theory is looking pretty good.
I have since learned that the loss of skin was at the end of my toe and that the blood on the side was just the blood that had flowed out of the wound. It is perfectly fine, just like the bottom of my right foot. After this week, one question really needs to be brought up. Should I keep on at least socks, shoes if I'm out of the house, since I seem to be a bit accident prone recently? The answer is probably yes, but I probably won't. I am the fairy child. If the weather is nice and I'm not going in public, there is no way I will be shod.
My Wil-O-Wisp
It's national poetry month and I've finally written a poem. I don't know where it came from. It just... came. This poem is for all children who have left their parents early.
Whisper
and listen,
my little wil-o-wisp.
Can you hear
the tree frogs?
The night birds?
They're singing for you.
They sing
to welcome you
into their realm.
Gaze
at the stars.
See?
They wear their best
for you.
Will you dance?
Will you dance with them?
Go my child.
Dance among the stars
to the night music.
I will follow
in my time.
One day.
One day I will follow.
Till then
dance,
dance among the stars.
Whisper
and listen,
my little wil-o-wisp.
Can you hear
the tree frogs?
The night birds?
They're singing for you.
They sing
to welcome you
into their realm.
Gaze
at the stars.
See?
They wear their best
for you.
Will you dance?
Will you dance with them?
Go my child.
Dance among the stars
to the night music.
I will follow
in my time.
One day.
One day I will follow.
Till then
dance,
dance among the stars.
A is for April. B is for Bee.
A wild Blog Post has appeared! Okay, geeky attempts at a jokes are over for now, probably.
I have been slacking off as of late in regards to my blogging. That much is fairly evident. Maybe it's because I haven't been able to think of a story, or perhaps I've simply been unable to conjure a poem, which is sad, since it is poetry month. Saturday, I sat at my computer and looked outside at the bluejay and the cardinal in our dogwood. I could read more webcomics or go out. What I should do is blog, but I can't think of anything, certainly not anything good. Out it is then. It was thus that I grabbed my camera and slid barefoot into the grass, and thus it was also that you should be provided with this post.
The summer after my fourth grade year, my mother brought my sister and me to Great Grandma's house. She had great, big (okay, great, big to a fourth grader) goose berry bushes. I loved gooseberries. My sister doesn't share that taste. Either way, we both searched thoroughly alongside our cousins. There were thorns, but we were careful. It was when we were playing in the yard that the most exciting part of the day took place. My sister was stung by a bee in her palm. There was great distress, and I got to watch my mother take care of her battle wound. I was at once fascinated, jealous that she got to be the first of the two of us, and embarrassed that she was making such a fuss (even if it did hurt a lot). At all points the phrase "summer after fourth grade" says a lot in way of explanation. Although if we had been older, I probably still would have been fascinated. She stayed in for the rest of the day, but my turn would come many years later. (Although you really should have guessed that by now.)
I have spent a wonderfully large amount of my life out side and a good chunk of that barefoot. If I were native to Tolkien's Middle Earth, I would, quite possibly, have been a hobbit. So it was Saturday that I slipped outside barefoot and trotted over to the flowers I saw, camera in hand. I took several pictures, a handful of which were "photo bombed" by Spirit. She was following me around. After some time I decided to bring something outside. I've always liked pictures that have something from the inside world in the outside world. Enter Rosie, a honey colored teddy bear that I made a "dress" for while watching Frankenstein when I was too young to be very interested. She is the closest thing to a traditional stuffed bear that I have. I posed her around and in a tree and took more pictures (and one of those was also "photo bombed" by Spirit). I picked her up and started to head off for another part of the yard. A few paces from the tree, I was "stabbed" on the bottom of my right foot. I figured it was a thorn. I was, after all, not far from the climbing rose (which doesn't really climb, more of makes a slight curve up then hugs the ground again as if it were afraid of heights). I hobbled a little ways and sat, twisting my foot to see the underside. Nothing really stood out among the grass that was stuck there, nothing except the thing a little closer to the arch than most of the grass. I pulled on it and realized that it had a clear bit attached somehow. Finally, I pulled it out. Low and behold, it was no thorn. It was the back end of a bee, not just a stinger. There was some exoskeleton and the clear stuff was probably some kind of bee gut. My theory is that it was already dismembered when I stepped on it, otherwise there would have been a whole lot more or less bee.
I limped inside and taking a cloth, cleaned it off. After all, there's no point in getting an infection. Then I limped off to find my father and casually ask if bee stings required any special treatment. He was a lot more worried about it than I was. I showed him the little red spot, and he sent me to find a large bandage. Maybe two or three minutes after the initial penetration of skin, it started to hurt a little, if hurt is really the best word for it. It felt different at any rate, odd maybe. When we looked at it agin, it was a red spot in a white circle, which, I was informed, was the poison. We applied the "magic" ingredients, put on the bandage to keep it on my foot, and pulled on a sock to keep the bandage on. After all that, I sat and tried to think of how to describe what it felt like. The best I've been able to come up with is, "a little less than a dull throbbing."
I am perfectly fine at this point. The only evidence is a dark spot under my skin the size of a pinhead, like a splinter.
I have been slacking off as of late in regards to my blogging. That much is fairly evident. Maybe it's because I haven't been able to think of a story, or perhaps I've simply been unable to conjure a poem, which is sad, since it is poetry month. Saturday, I sat at my computer and looked outside at the bluejay and the cardinal in our dogwood. I could read more webcomics or go out. What I should do is blog, but I can't think of anything, certainly not anything good. Out it is then. It was thus that I grabbed my camera and slid barefoot into the grass, and thus it was also that you should be provided with this post.
The summer after my fourth grade year, my mother brought my sister and me to Great Grandma's house. She had great, big (okay, great, big to a fourth grader) goose berry bushes. I loved gooseberries. My sister doesn't share that taste. Either way, we both searched thoroughly alongside our cousins. There were thorns, but we were careful. It was when we were playing in the yard that the most exciting part of the day took place. My sister was stung by a bee in her palm. There was great distress, and I got to watch my mother take care of her battle wound. I was at once fascinated, jealous that she got to be the first of the two of us, and embarrassed that she was making such a fuss (even if it did hurt a lot). At all points the phrase "summer after fourth grade" says a lot in way of explanation. Although if we had been older, I probably still would have been fascinated. She stayed in for the rest of the day, but my turn would come many years later. (Although you really should have guessed that by now.)
I have spent a wonderfully large amount of my life out side and a good chunk of that barefoot. If I were native to Tolkien's Middle Earth, I would, quite possibly, have been a hobbit. So it was Saturday that I slipped outside barefoot and trotted over to the flowers I saw, camera in hand. I took several pictures, a handful of which were "photo bombed" by Spirit. She was following me around. After some time I decided to bring something outside. I've always liked pictures that have something from the inside world in the outside world. Enter Rosie, a honey colored teddy bear that I made a "dress" for while watching Frankenstein when I was too young to be very interested. She is the closest thing to a traditional stuffed bear that I have. I posed her around and in a tree and took more pictures (and one of those was also "photo bombed" by Spirit). I picked her up and started to head off for another part of the yard. A few paces from the tree, I was "stabbed" on the bottom of my right foot. I figured it was a thorn. I was, after all, not far from the climbing rose (which doesn't really climb, more of makes a slight curve up then hugs the ground again as if it were afraid of heights). I hobbled a little ways and sat, twisting my foot to see the underside. Nothing really stood out among the grass that was stuck there, nothing except the thing a little closer to the arch than most of the grass. I pulled on it and realized that it had a clear bit attached somehow. Finally, I pulled it out. Low and behold, it was no thorn. It was the back end of a bee, not just a stinger. There was some exoskeleton and the clear stuff was probably some kind of bee gut. My theory is that it was already dismembered when I stepped on it, otherwise there would have been a whole lot more or less bee.
I limped inside and taking a cloth, cleaned it off. After all, there's no point in getting an infection. Then I limped off to find my father and casually ask if bee stings required any special treatment. He was a lot more worried about it than I was. I showed him the little red spot, and he sent me to find a large bandage. Maybe two or three minutes after the initial penetration of skin, it started to hurt a little, if hurt is really the best word for it. It felt different at any rate, odd maybe. When we looked at it agin, it was a red spot in a white circle, which, I was informed, was the poison. We applied the "magic" ingredients, put on the bandage to keep it on my foot, and pulled on a sock to keep the bandage on. After all that, I sat and tried to think of how to describe what it felt like. The best I've been able to come up with is, "a little less than a dull throbbing."
I am perfectly fine at this point. The only evidence is a dark spot under my skin the size of a pinhead, like a splinter.
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Siblings' Day 2013
Tada!
It's a blog post! In for-warning, the writing may not be like most of my posts. I normally make a point of not listening to music while I write. It messes with the rthym and emotion of my words. However, my brother, Ace, is listening to his music audibly, and if I must have slightly off writing, I'd rather have it because of my music. We have different tastes. While he likes much of my music, I don't really like a fair amount of his. It's the same way with my sister. I love all her music, but she doesn't like Owl City or Tenth Avenue North. While we all have our individual tastes, we still claim each other for whatever reason. Well, in my sister's case, we don't have a choice, but I think that if we did I'd still like her. What her choice would be is debateable.
Today is Siblings' Day, so I figured I would write about my sister. I might write about my brothers in following years. Ace would certainly be an interesting entry, but on to my sister. It's hard to think of what story to tell. When she possibly saved my life? When she almost killed me? I don't think a story is right for now.
She was my example growing up. I aspired to be as smart and beautiful as her. I'm sure she hated that, even though she did use it to her advantage since I could get away with more things than she could. She's three years older than me, and I bawled my eyes out once she was out of sight on the road to college. In a sense, she's a part of me. The reasonable part that has a few odd but much loved quirks.
So happy Siblings' Day, big sister. I love you, and your cat misses you a lot.
Readers other than my sister: Go. Go give a hug to your brother or sister. Hold him, her, or both close and apologize for that argument last week. If you don't have a sibling, hug a pet or your parents, your kids, your spouse, or even yourself, if you live totally alone, because time forces us all apart in one way or another, but we'll all meet again at some point.
Take care,
Kara
It's a blog post! In for-warning, the writing may not be like most of my posts. I normally make a point of not listening to music while I write. It messes with the rthym and emotion of my words. However, my brother, Ace, is listening to his music audibly, and if I must have slightly off writing, I'd rather have it because of my music. We have different tastes. While he likes much of my music, I don't really like a fair amount of his. It's the same way with my sister. I love all her music, but she doesn't like Owl City or Tenth Avenue North. While we all have our individual tastes, we still claim each other for whatever reason. Well, in my sister's case, we don't have a choice, but I think that if we did I'd still like her. What her choice would be is debateable.
Today is Siblings' Day, so I figured I would write about my sister. I might write about my brothers in following years. Ace would certainly be an interesting entry, but on to my sister. It's hard to think of what story to tell. When she possibly saved my life? When she almost killed me? I don't think a story is right for now.
She was my example growing up. I aspired to be as smart and beautiful as her. I'm sure she hated that, even though she did use it to her advantage since I could get away with more things than she could. She's three years older than me, and I bawled my eyes out once she was out of sight on the road to college. In a sense, she's a part of me. The reasonable part that has a few odd but much loved quirks.
So happy Siblings' Day, big sister. I love you, and your cat misses you a lot.
Readers other than my sister: Go. Go give a hug to your brother or sister. Hold him, her, or both close and apologize for that argument last week. If you don't have a sibling, hug a pet or your parents, your kids, your spouse, or even yourself, if you live totally alone, because time forces us all apart in one way or another, but we'll all meet again at some point.
Take care,
Kara
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