Newsflash. Today is Christmas.
Breaking news: Today is a great Christmas.
Sometimes, I feel like I really just want to get away from my family. But, today, I just want to be with them forever.
This Christmas has been one of the best that I can remember. I don't want it to end.
But, remember how, just earlier this week, I was talking about how I wasn't quite ready for Christmas to sneak up on me? I have a different perspective on that now. Yes, I do wish that I could have finished my finals earlier than two days before Christmas so I could prepare and get really excited. Yes, I did finish all my shopping and oh boy am I glad that it's over. But, really, I don't feel like it snuck up on me. I feel happy about it, like a surprise party that was actually a surprise.
And, while I was very joyous for everything I recieved today, that is not what makes me so happy. Quite honestly, I'm not really sure exactly what is causing me to be so enchanted. Perhaps it's the fact that I got more sleep this Christmas Eve than I have for many others past, sleeping in until 4:30 and then sneaking downstairs to check out the Santa presents and playing Pokemon with my sister. Perhaps it's the genuine joy I felt every time one of my family members opened a gift that I purchased for him/her. Perhaps it's the sheer lack of stress or worry that is usually present on this holiday.
Who cares what it is? It's good. It's 100000% good.
I just wanted to share my joy, I suppose. I wish you all a very Merry Christmas, or whatever holiday you are celebrating this holiday season.
I will see you in my next blog, in which I wil be much wittier.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Is it weird that I'd like Christmas to wait a bit?
Just so we're on the same page, I don't like to be politically correct. I celebrate Christmas, so that's what I'm calling it. No "Holiday" or "Non-Denominational-Emotionless-American-Holiday."
I feel like a huge Scrooge saying this, but I kinda wish Christmas would be like a week away from now rather than three days. I really love Christmas and the entire season, but I feel like I've been so absorbed in finals that I haven't been able to get into the Christmas spirit much. Of course, I've done my shopping (mostly) and I'm really excited to give my gifts away. I actually like to give gifts away way more than I like to recieve them.
So, why, then, do I feel like such a grump?
The tree is up and decorated, the stockings are hung with care, and we have made several batches of cookies. Yet, it still doesn't feel like Christmas.
Maybe it's the weather. Duluth is famous for ridiculous, snow-covered winters. But, this year has been particularly devoid of snow. There is grass. Maybe that's part of this funk.
Perhaps it'll help me to see some of the people I love who have gone away for college. It's always terrible to be without those you love, regardless of the season. Hm.
Anyway. That's boring.
I do have some good news, though: Remember that story I was writing that I neglected because I didn't have a plot for it? Of course you don't. You weren't here for that.
Well, I've come up with a plot. And, as I create it, I'll put snippets here. I will definitely hunt anyone down who decides to take my ideas and use them for his or her own personal gain. That's not cool. Don't do it.
I'll leave you with this wonderful LINK.
Sweet dreams, Internet.
I feel like a huge Scrooge saying this, but I kinda wish Christmas would be like a week away from now rather than three days. I really love Christmas and the entire season, but I feel like I've been so absorbed in finals that I haven't been able to get into the Christmas spirit much. Of course, I've done my shopping (mostly) and I'm really excited to give my gifts away. I actually like to give gifts away way more than I like to recieve them.
So, why, then, do I feel like such a grump?
The tree is up and decorated, the stockings are hung with care, and we have made several batches of cookies. Yet, it still doesn't feel like Christmas.
Maybe it's the weather. Duluth is famous for ridiculous, snow-covered winters. But, this year has been particularly devoid of snow. There is grass. Maybe that's part of this funk.
Perhaps it'll help me to see some of the people I love who have gone away for college. It's always terrible to be without those you love, regardless of the season. Hm.
Anyway. That's boring.
I do have some good news, though: Remember that story I was writing that I neglected because I didn't have a plot for it? Of course you don't. You weren't here for that.
Well, I've come up with a plot. And, as I create it, I'll put snippets here. I will definitely hunt anyone down who decides to take my ideas and use them for his or her own personal gain. That's not cool. Don't do it.
I'll leave you with this wonderful LINK.
Sweet dreams, Internet.
Monday, December 19, 2011
A Letter, Part 1.
To my Father's Father,
Who only held me once,
Who, try my best, I can't remember,
I write a note of love.
When I was born,
Soon after, you died.
But, I know you were a hero.
You taught my Father how to be a man
And you guided him through life,
Keeping a hand on his shoulder
While at the same time
Keeping your temper.
You built a kingdom for your sons to rule,
And left instructions for them
That they have obediently followed.
Though my memories of you are not concrete,
Not made of anything substantial,
Just watery, translucent,
I feel we are much closer than we are.
Through stories, I met you.
Through tales, I knew you.
Through jokes and laughs and tears, I loved you.
And, though you are somewhere else,
I feel I know you.
But, to really see you,
In images caught on tape,
In videos captured ages ago,
I feel as if I have truly met you for the first time.
You look just as I'd seen you look
Just as I imagined;
Strong, firm, knowing eyes,
My Father's ears, my Father's smile,
My Uncle's nose, my Aunt's eyes.
In grainy, blurry, cheap-film memories,
I see in you pieces of me.
And I shake my fist at fate,
For taking you from me,
For taking you from your sons and daughters
Before they were ready for you,
Before I could even remember you.
To my Father's Mother,
Who I never even met,
Who kept her strength in the face of danger,
Like a hero,
I write with admiration.
From those tales that have danced into my ears
And nestled, sleepily, in my memory,
I learned about you.
You never learned to drive,
You never cooked for less than ten,
And you stood strong through illness
Where most would
And did
Fall to their knees.
When my Father was born,
You might have left even earlier,
Depriving him of memories
Of his mother,
Just as your cancer did to me.
I thank you for your legacy,
For raising my Father well,
For giving me my heritage,
And for teaching me,
Though we never met,
How to live a dream.
You fought your way out of Hell
In your early, formative years,
And were thrust back in later in life.
But you fought.
You kept your head out of the inferno
And maintained your strength,
While, at the same time,
Feeding a family of nine.
It was not the cancer that took you from me.
It was the treatment.
The "cure."
But, because you stayed and taught my Father,
Your legend brought you back.
To my Mother's Father,
Who was my friend,
I write a compound letter;
One with sorrow,
And one with gladness.
You were my only Grandfather
And you recieved all of my love.
My memories of you are vivid,
Like the surviving taste of your vegetables
And the lingering smell of your tobacco.
I spent the early part of my life
In your house,
On your lap,
In your garden,
At your table,
Playing and laughing with you all the while.
And, even to the end of your long life,
You never failed to grin and chuckle
When I walked through your familiar door.
You held strong through your own personal Hell,
When you overcame your disease.
You kept around for my Mother,
And for your wife,
Before they brought me into the world,
And brought you into mine.
As I look fondly back
Into the scrapbook of memories I have built in my mind,
I regret those times that I cheated at poker,
Or ate the last bit of ice cream in your freezer.
But, I realize
Years after you left us,
That you never minded.
You always wrinkled your eyes
And chuckled merrily,
And patted me on the head with your strong hand,
With a gap where the ring finger should be,
And told me that you forgave me.
So, I write to you
Eyes filled with happy tears
Remembering you
And recalling how fortunate I was
To be able to call myself your friend
And to be able to call you my Grandfather.
Who only held me once,
Who, try my best, I can't remember,
I write a note of love.
When I was born,
Soon after, you died.
But, I know you were a hero.
You taught my Father how to be a man
And you guided him through life,
Keeping a hand on his shoulder
While at the same time
Keeping your temper.
You built a kingdom for your sons to rule,
And left instructions for them
That they have obediently followed.
Though my memories of you are not concrete,
Not made of anything substantial,
Just watery, translucent,
I feel we are much closer than we are.
Through stories, I met you.
Through tales, I knew you.
Through jokes and laughs and tears, I loved you.
And, though you are somewhere else,
I feel I know you.
But, to really see you,
In images caught on tape,
In videos captured ages ago,
I feel as if I have truly met you for the first time.
You look just as I'd seen you look
Just as I imagined;
Strong, firm, knowing eyes,
My Father's ears, my Father's smile,
My Uncle's nose, my Aunt's eyes.
In grainy, blurry, cheap-film memories,
I see in you pieces of me.
And I shake my fist at fate,
For taking you from me,
For taking you from your sons and daughters
Before they were ready for you,
Before I could even remember you.
To my Father's Mother,
Who I never even met,
Who kept her strength in the face of danger,
Like a hero,
I write with admiration.
From those tales that have danced into my ears
And nestled, sleepily, in my memory,
I learned about you.
You never learned to drive,
You never cooked for less than ten,
And you stood strong through illness
Where most would
And did
Fall to their knees.
When my Father was born,
You might have left even earlier,
Depriving him of memories
Of his mother,
Just as your cancer did to me.
I thank you for your legacy,
For raising my Father well,
For giving me my heritage,
And for teaching me,
Though we never met,
How to live a dream.
You fought your way out of Hell
In your early, formative years,
And were thrust back in later in life.
But you fought.
You kept your head out of the inferno
And maintained your strength,
While, at the same time,
Feeding a family of nine.
It was not the cancer that took you from me.
It was the treatment.
The "cure."
But, because you stayed and taught my Father,
Your legend brought you back.
To my Mother's Father,
Who was my friend,
I write a compound letter;
One with sorrow,
And one with gladness.
You were my only Grandfather
And you recieved all of my love.
My memories of you are vivid,
Like the surviving taste of your vegetables
And the lingering smell of your tobacco.
I spent the early part of my life
In your house,
On your lap,
In your garden,
At your table,
Playing and laughing with you all the while.
And, even to the end of your long life,
You never failed to grin and chuckle
When I walked through your familiar door.
You held strong through your own personal Hell,
When you overcame your disease.
You kept around for my Mother,
And for your wife,
Before they brought me into the world,
And brought you into mine.
As I look fondly back
Into the scrapbook of memories I have built in my mind,
I regret those times that I cheated at poker,
Or ate the last bit of ice cream in your freezer.
But, I realize
Years after you left us,
That you never minded.
You always wrinkled your eyes
And chuckled merrily,
And patted me on the head with your strong hand,
With a gap where the ring finger should be,
And told me that you forgave me.
So, I write to you
Eyes filled with happy tears
Remembering you
And recalling how fortunate I was
To be able to call myself your friend
And to be able to call you my Grandfather.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Eyes Forward
Head up,
Eyes open.
Watch the road.
But where, she asked, has the road gone?
Straight out from under you, he answered
As he straightened his tie and pursed his lips.
White knuckled
She pressed the brake
Accelerating too quickly
Losing control.
Flash.
Crash.
I told you so.
He snickered
Placing his feet on the dashboard.
There was no control
Only an illusion
A mistake
Of freedom
Of control
Of choice
Of importance.
Now,
Without control,
Taking her hands off the wheel,
She draws in a slow breath
Shaky like a branch in a storm.
She cannot speak.
Cannot articulate
The feeling of losing
The control she thought she had
Over sanity.
Her heart could have
Should have
Stopped.
But it chose to continue
Beating like a berating bomb
Cackling in her chest.
Call for help, he mused.
This is only the beginning.
She crumpled at the shrill sound
Stinging in her ears
Cracking her skull.
Will it ever be the same? She wondered.
Of course not, he answered.
You will never forget, he chortled.
Pay attention.
Use caution.
Eyes forward, Girl.
Don't blink; don't flinch.
You'll miss all the fun.
Eyes open.
Watch the road.
But where, she asked, has the road gone?
Straight out from under you, he answered
As he straightened his tie and pursed his lips.
White knuckled
She pressed the brake
Accelerating too quickly
Losing control.
Flash.
Crash.
I told you so.
He snickered
Placing his feet on the dashboard.
There was no control
Only an illusion
A mistake
Of freedom
Of control
Of choice
Of importance.
Now,
Without control,
Taking her hands off the wheel,
She draws in a slow breath
Shaky like a branch in a storm.
She cannot speak.
Cannot articulate
The feeling of losing
The control she thought she had
Over sanity.
Her heart could have
Should have
Stopped.
But it chose to continue
Beating like a berating bomb
Cackling in her chest.
Call for help, he mused.
This is only the beginning.
She crumpled at the shrill sound
Stinging in her ears
Cracking her skull.
Will it ever be the same? She wondered.
Of course not, he answered.
You will never forget, he chortled.
Pay attention.
Use caution.
Eyes forward, Girl.
Don't blink; don't flinch.
You'll miss all the fun.
Garlic Breath and Banana Nut Muffins
You know how you can taste something in your mouth after you eat it, and then you feel like everyone around you can taste it, too?
Yesterday for lunch I had a hideously overpriced banana nut muffin from the coffee shop on campus for lunch, paired with a hot chocolate that would have been delicious if I haven't removed the top layer of my tongue on the first scalding sip. I munched it as I sat with a friend and chatted. It was a good muffin, with all the qualities that a muffin should have and then some. After the conversation concluded and I meandered off to class with a happy belly, I got the hiccups.
Banana nut muffin hiccups, which are usually unladylike to talk about. But, this is the internet.
These hiccups followed me until halfway through my next class, where the banana flavor stayed with me. I tried to chew a piece of gum, but it just wouldn't leave. It was a little bit like having garlic breath after eating at Olive Garden or having a particularly scary nightmare (or pleasurable dream, to be optimistic) that you think about even after you wake up and get in the shower.
Yesterday for lunch I had a hideously overpriced banana nut muffin from the coffee shop on campus for lunch, paired with a hot chocolate that would have been delicious if I haven't removed the top layer of my tongue on the first scalding sip. I munched it as I sat with a friend and chatted. It was a good muffin, with all the qualities that a muffin should have and then some. After the conversation concluded and I meandered off to class with a happy belly, I got the hiccups.
Banana nut muffin hiccups, which are usually unladylike to talk about. But, this is the internet.
These hiccups followed me until halfway through my next class, where the banana flavor stayed with me. I tried to chew a piece of gum, but it just wouldn't leave. It was a little bit like having garlic breath after eating at Olive Garden or having a particularly scary nightmare (or pleasurable dream, to be optimistic) that you think about even after you wake up and get in the shower.
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