Death

I don’t suppose a lot of people think about Death these days. When they do, they think of it as a disease that needs to be solved, rather than a natural course of events.
Aging? A disease? Get out of here! What’s next? Pregnancy is a parasitic condition? That actually makes a whole lot more sense to me.
There are so many interpretations of Death that I enjoy studying its many interpretations. One thing that’s evident to me is that everything dies eventually. Even the mythical Gods couldn’t truly escape it, if one wished to “off” the other; it was usually possible. (Although, usually the Gods got so angry at each other, they prefer to keep their enemy Gods around to torture them.) But that’s besides the point. The point is, everything dies, so why be afraid of it? Why pretend there’s a way around it? It’ll come eventually to everybody, so just live your life and be happy. The only thing that’s known for sure is this life, so just live your life and be happy.

Breaking Benjamin - Rain (acoustic live)

All I can think about is the rain here in Southern California, so here's a little childrens song that was made awesome by Breaking Benjamin!!

Clumsy

I’m really clumsy. There I said it. Always have been, always will be, I think it’s safe to say everybody has clumsy “spells” but some of us are born clumsy, and we just have graceful “spells”. I wish I would have one soon, before I lose an appendage. It’s been crazy lately.

On top of the ordinary bumps and bruises that I inflicted upon myself on a regular basis, I have one freaky accident, or one bump or scrape that’s more serious than the rest, or something that could have been avoided, had I just paid more attention every two or three months. This week I’ve had each of these things:

1. The Avoidable Accident
Friday, I’m baking cookies and the timer goes off. I can’t locate an oven mitten within the first three seconds of looking, instead of looking a little longer, or asking where one was: I grab a towel, thinking: “I hope this towel’s thick enough…Nope, guess not….ouch! Cookies were saved and I had a huge blister on my right hand index finger, and a little one on my thumb.

2. The Serious Scrape
Last night I got up from my futon to go to the bathroom, and I felt my bed tilt with me. So, I lean back so that I don’t flip it over and I think it flips all the way back. When I come back from the bathroom and climb into bed I feel the futon is at a slant, but I’m sleepy, so I’m not sure. I lean over to feel if the futon leg is on the ground or in the air: sure enough, as soon as I find the leg bottom the futon shifts and lands on the floor, with my right middle and ring finger squished in between. Luckily nothing was broken, however, I did bruise my ring finger a little, and I scraped layers of skin off of my middle finger.( I had no idea the futon leg was that sharp.) So now I’m out of practicing piano for a few days, and I’m typing with only nine fingers.

3. Freaky
This morning I was playing with a pen; and the clasp for pinning it on a shirt broke off and a piece went flying straight into my eye. My eye wasn’t scratched, even though I hadn’t had time to blink to keep the foreign object from hitting my eyeball, but it sure did make it water. I walked around like a one eyed pirate for about a minute.

All in all, I hope that this was the last of my accidents, because frankly, I don’t want to know what might happen next.

Driving

I recently received my driving permit (RED ALERT! Watch the roads!!) No I’m kidding…a little. I’m keeping most of my driving in abandoned parking lots, so you don't really have to worry about bumping into me...or me bumping into you, I guess would be more accurate.

So far I’ve managed to crash into six imaginary cars while backing out of parking spaces, which I was pretending was a crowded mall parking lot (rather than an empty college parking lot); and I’ve hit two more imaginary cars by forgetting to look before changing lanes. Just for laughs, I gave backing into a parking space a whirl, and I’m not even going to tell you what happened. All in all, I’m getting better, and I was unleashed upon a real road with real cars yesterday, and I didn’t freak out…not on the outside anyways.

My car of choice hasn’t sustained any damage, and I haven't given Mama (who has been my licensed driver in all of my driving adventures) whiplash. So all in all, I guess I haven’t done that badly.

Three Days Grace - Last To Know

Last last week I started to learn "Last To Know" by "Three Days Grace" by watching a video that Neil Sanderson (keyboardist and drummer of "Three Days Grace") put together, over and over again, and by listening to the record version to make sure I'm playing the different parts in the right order. I'm positive there's an easier way to do it but I'm just doing this way. I'm really short on time lately mainly because of my trying to learn this song, and it's made me brain dead. So, I thought I'd just let everyone now what I've been up to...I'm not even sure that this blog even makes sense, but I'll post it anyway.

This is What You Get

This is what you get with me
What you get is what you see
I don’t ask for much
My demands are such
That an honest person can
Keep it all in han’.

This is what you get with me
Just be who you were meant to be
Then I choose to stay
Or to walk and keep away.
Keep honest and
Find your place to stand
I cannot find
it for you; I do not wish to bind
Myself to you
If you don’t know if you can be true.

This is what you get with me,
There isn’t much to see
My cards are on the table
For anyone who is able
There are no games to play
The price to lose, I can’t pay.

This is what you get with me
What you get is what you see.

Passing The Love

When you’re in a family, and one person gets sick, you can pretty much count on the whole family taking sick in turns. That’s just the way the circle of life goes. You bring a little something into the family, you share it with everybody. By the time everyone has gotten sick, the chemical code that the illness possessed has morphed into an unfamiliar code, and the first person will undoubtedly get sick again. Sure you feel bad for ‘em, but you can’t help feel as if justice has been served. “Take that for getting us sick!” Maybe that’s just me. Maybe I’m just evil.
But anyhow, this little circle of illness has been dubbed "passing on the love." Because you wouldn't pass this on to someone you don't know, better to pass the love on to someone you love! (Maybe I'm a little batty too.)

The Little Things

People say that it's the little things that make life worth while...and their right.

This week has been really crazy. Anyone with a family knows that when one person gets sick everything tends to fall apart. That’s what happened this week. My little brother got sick on Monday morning, and that was it the entire week changed direction. Today he’s feeling better and I finally have time to do a few things that had been knocked down on my “To Do List” when he became ill.

I washed my dog, which everyone knows is the most important thing! (Now I’m blogging, which is the second most important thing!)
While I was toweling off my dog's stomach, it made a gurgle-gurgle sound.
“I’m sorry, I forgot you just had breakfast,” I giggled.
Then…..he burped! That was the funniest thing this week!

Mama

Mama

She does all she can for you.
Not for the pleasure of telling you what to do.
But to let you learn from her experiences
So you won’t have to burn the way she did.

She loves you like no one else can
She always has a plan
For something fun and new to learn
Never indifferent she is always filled with concern.

Never does she ignore
She runs when you cry
Never speaks scathing words
She asks what’s wrong when you sigh

She is love. She is Mama.

Stairs Leading to Nowhere

I was flipping through one of my composition books and came across an old writing prompt that said “Stairs leading to nowhere…” My first story was about a crumbling staircase in a graveyard that used to be a part of a building that’s function was long forgotten.
Today when I looked at the prompt it brought up things in my mind that were completely different from what I had come up with the last time I looked at it.
The first things that popped into my head were the unfinished “Adoration of the Magi” painting by Leonardo Di Vinci, and the stone steps in our old backyard in Bella Vista, and how Arkansas is a place that will lead a local to nowhere and an outsider to certain ruin…
Then there was something else a lot more profound than the others. Drugs and alcohol are “stairs leading to nowhere” in a symbolic sort of way.
Everyone can look at history and see what those things do to people, that it leads to absolutely nowhere, or like the “Adoration of the Magi” they lead to a shear drop that could kill you.
Anyone can see it, yet generation after generation continue to choose not to look beyond the step directly beneath them, and when they run out of stairs they may not even realize that their falling until they hit the ground.
Then what? What do most people do if they survive hitting the ground? Turn around and start looking for a staircase that will actually lead them somewhere? Some do, most don’t.
Sad to say a large number of them get right back on that same old staircase, thinking that this time they won’t climb so high this time, and they’ll avoid falling. A number of them do succeed to a degree while others take the big tumble all over again. All these people continue to use the stairs, never seeing that they will never bring them anywhere.
They just stay stuck in place, never moving on as human beings, never progressing, they are content to remain stationary, content in their nothingness and insignificance, until they become another step on the stairs leading to nowhere.

Photo Albums

Now a day’s everybody is going digital with everything. I find myself asking: Is this a good thing?
It seems to me that people who do their billing, banking, picture taking, writing, communication and filming all digitally are just one Super Virus away from becoming nobody. I don’t read much science fiction, but I’m sure that there is some author somewhere who has addressed the issue of a technologically advanced species that lost everything in a major power shortage, and everybody was reduced to a very primitive way of living. These people forgot who they were and where they came from and went back to telling stories about gods who control everything that happens, because that will seem more logical than microorganisms, atoms and neutrons. Because these people forgot their own histories they became in essence, nothing…

I’m not about to go into all of that, I’m not predicting that something like that will happen, I’m just planning upon making a smaller point, that will demonstrate that going digital is not necessarily a good thing.

Photos

I love my families albums, I love being able to just sit down and remember things that happened, and even the things that I was too young to remember, I like to imagine that I can. I’m not capable of relating how much these albums mean to my family and I. The ability to recount events and recall old conversations and events that we shared together helps us stay strong as a family, and helps bring forth our individuality.
Another thing I don’t think I could ever live without is our old family portraits. I can’t remember a time when Great Grandma and Great Grandpa Mezzano didn’t gaze down at me from a wall in my families home. Although I never met them, it’s a constant and comforting reminder that I am a part of a family; that a piece of those two people lives in me, and I feel as if as long as they hang on the wall, they will always be alive as well.
I feel similarly about the photo albums, except they have me and people that I know and have met in them, I can’t help but feel as long as they are there, I will always live on. My history and my story will always be there for someone else to see long after I’m gone. It gives me a sense of long lasting security. I will never disappear. I will always be there in those happy, or angry, or frustrating moments, it’s captured right there in that second.

Now this digital thing, I’m afraid of it quite frankly. I walk into people’s houses and there isn’t a single picture on the wall. Not a family portrait, or a school picture. It’s like these people are ghosts, these homes feel as empty and as expressionless as a hotel room. I immediately feel alien from these people; there isn’t a sign of them anywhere!
So when I hear that people have gone digital and their kids are rebelling against it, my immediate reaction is: “of course they are!! Why wouldn’t they?”
They’re growing up like ghosts. No wait, if they were ghosts, they would have a past, and they would be clinging to it. These children are without a past. When you’re growing up, you are constantly wondering “Who am I?” and “Where did I come from?” It’s in human nature to ask these questions. To have a past gives you your identity, something that can never be stolen from you. Photos in easily accessible albums, and hanging on the walls were children can see it gives them a sense of security.
Growing up I know that man on the wall is my Great Grandpa. I know that my Great Grandpa immigrated to this country and married my Great Grandma. That's the greatest feeling in the world: to know that there is a place for you; to know that you are an essential member of a family. Even though they never met me, I am a part of my grandparents lineage, and they mine.
Humans need that sense of belonging, which is why it makes perfect sense that the kids are rebelling against the going-digital thing. What doesn’t make sense is the adult’s immediate willingness to strip themselves of their identity in their own homes.

Moving On

Moving On

Moving on is hard
Leaving the known
Is hard
For all you receive is unknown

We all put it off
No one likes a change.
We can no longer put it off
We need the change.

To keep life like this
Will suffocate us
To accept everything as is
Will mean the end for us.

I can’t stay with you
If you continue
To allow those who harm you
Around you.

I seeing you hurt everyday
By those who
Have the audacity to say
They love you.

I always ask myself: How can you hurt
Those you say you love?
I want “this take and hurt”
Way of love.

If this is the way it is
I will skim above
Any chance of
This so called “love.”

All that is left a web of lies
With mere whispers of the love
That first made the ties
Of a home of peaceful love.

So many tears fall
I fear there’s more to come
God can’t count them all
Yet each partake in who I shall become.

It is a burden on my heart and mind
I cannot fight your fight
I can’t cut the ropes that bind
Your will and might.

I walk away
So that I may breathe again
And I will pray
That you will learn to Fly again.

Inspirational Thoughts on Life

I figured most people have some sort of personal Inspirational realization through their life; some pieces of information that have snapped together and no matter who you are or how much time elapses, thoughts that won’t ever change. This is merely my teenage Inspirational thoughts, I have them weekly. One day I just decided that I’d write it down as some kind of speech. Now I’ve decided to rewrite it as a blog. But in essence it’s the same thing that I originally wrote down.

First off, I will acknowledge the fact that everyone has a different way of approaching everything, whether it is a problem, job choice or anything else, so I will start this off by stating that what this says may or may not work for you personally. Everyone’s way of dealing with life differs from person to person. So, I won’t bother trying to sell that what I am about to say is true for you.

Goals

I know an excellent thing for everyone (and everybody does it, consciously or otherwise) is to set goals. Goals are a way of knowing what you want, and having an idea of how you are going to get it. One’s position always influences the goals one has; a position also changes the way to reach certain goals. Your position could determine if the goal you have could mean more or less work for you. So, why should anybody ever even bother to tell anybody what a “good goal’ is? Quite frankly, no one should. No one has any right to tell you what you can or cannot do, or can or cannot achieve.
For that reason, I’m not going to bother going into what a “good” or “bad” goal is, but just for the brief I’m trying to make I’ll just list some examples: gaining a college scholarship, graduating college, a job promotion, a good/successful relationship with a partner. Goal setters are recognized as outgoing people, and if you really want what you’re setting your goal for, you will achieve it, one way or another.

Wishes

I also firmly believe that everyone should wish less. Wishes should be made only once in a great while, over a birthday cake, or on a shooting star. Wishing is the wanting something without having the initiative or determination to go and get it yourself; it’s wanting something that you think you can only gain with the help of a Divine Other. Wishes are over-used, and are often a big waste of time. But as humans, we can’t help but wish for things that are impossible to achieve, like wanting to speak with an ex-President…whose dead; or wishing that a puppet would turn into a real boy. Wishing is a way of wanting things that are completely out of our hands, with no exceptions.
Wishing less is something that someone with a high self-esteem and self-loving person is smart should strive for; because wanting things that are impossible can only make you be disappointed and discontent with life.


Dreams

Now dreaming is something we all need to do often, but like all things it can be over done, and like all people, the limit line is different for everyone. But I think I can safely say everyone needs to dream more often. It can be looked at as a more healthy form of wishing, though it’s not really even close if you think about it.
We have established that the art of wishes are people hoping for things that are completely out of reach, and often times impossible: like winning the lottery. Dreams on the other hand, are when you want something that is possible to have, and there is a clear way of getting whatever it is (in a lot of cases, dreams can be the beginnings of a goal.) Dreaming is thinking up a goal before the goal has been set.
Dreaming is what makes a lot of people push harder, to do better and be better. What we dream about, (and how often) determine the type of people that we are.
Dreamers can be good-natured people that are always trying to do better. But like most wishes, some dreams don’t come true too. Usually the reason for this is even if you do all you can do to reach your goal, and dream with all your might, there is a chance that it can all go down the drain. How you take your failure that determines what kind of a dreamer you are: Whether you are the disappointed or the ordinary kind.
The worst thing that you can probably do when a dream spoils is to blame yourself when it happens. I think a lot of stuff we all want (70% to 90%) have portions that are another person’s choice. So even in dreaming you’re still relying on someone else to get what you want. 70% to 90% of one dream needs someone else’s positive action to make your dream come true. Blaming yourself on “wasted” dreams, breeds resentment, and restlessness. I believe one of the worst things anybody can do is blame yourself when something is out of your control. But that doesn’t mean you can be irresponsible.
Everything isn’t your entire fault, but sometimes it is you that shattered your dreams. But it isn’t common that a situation is caused totally and utterly by one’s self.
So, dream more, be responsible, and don’t blame yourself needlessly.




Caring

We all need to care about something. What you care about makes you a better person; whether you are caring about others like family, you partner, or children. Caring and doing good go hand-in-hand. If you really care you do something. And when you do something, it causes change, and things can only change for the better if you care. Caring for something gives you a goal and you dream about what is the best way to achieve that goal, and caring about your goal, keeps you focused. And when you’re focusing on a goal, you’re doing something and you’re working on making your dreams come true.
If we all cared more, we can make better children, better families, better neighborhoods, better communities, and a better world.



“Do no Evil”

The last and probably the most important things to add to my list are to “Speak no evil, hear no evil.” “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” “Hurt no others in ways that you yourself would find hurtful.” “What is hateful to you do not to you fellow man……” “….desire for your brother that which (you) desire for (yourself).” “Bless is who preferreth his brother before himself.” *
You would think with it written in so many ways in so many places, it would be catching!
The saying “speak no evil, hear no evil” the one that means the most to me would be the "speak no evil", but the one most people need is the “hear no evil” since we are all gossipers at heart and like to hear when someone else has it as bad, or worse off than we do ourselves, it makes us feel better about our own situation.
“Speak no evil.” Everyone does it. Gossiping (again), back-talking, lying, cussing, telling unkind truths in hurtful ways, the list is endless.
Words can’t break bones…they hurt more. The people closest to you, can break you more easily and more thoroughly than anything in the world; and it’s their words that hurt more than anyone else’s. Because the people close to you know the most about you, they are the people you trust to know the most about you. And they can break you, and you can break them too; which is why words from a loved one can hurt more than any stone could; because they have abused the information that you have entrusted in them to respect and to keep, and that hurt runs deep.
“Speak no evil; hear no evil…..do no evil”

* You may have noticed I’ve altered a few of the quotes to make them more appropriate for my point. The reason I changed the first saying raises a good point that I feel needs to be written. The saying is “Speak no evil, see no evil, and hear no evil” in my opinion, you need to see evil. If you see evil, and recognize it for what it is, then you have acknowledged that fact that something needs to change, then you are dreaming of something better. If you care enough to try to change whatever it is you have given yourself a goal. And you will start working on a better world, even if it doesn’t work out in this lifetime, you would have realized that the meaning of life is to enjoy the good things that are in life already, and to see if you can’t make it better.

The Veil

The Echoes of past
Send vibes into the silent night
Unheard through the day
Now amplify at night
For the one who have ears to hear them.

As I lie awake,
Unsleeping, unceasing
Through the witching hour

A time, nature has it,
Those who live - sleep
Those who are dead, and those who never lived
Rule the frozen time of midnight.

My eyes gaze
Into the veil’s haze
Between this world and the other

I watch unblinkingly, nervousness grows
As those beyond the veil move
Some pass through an opening in time and space
into my world and bedroom.

I feel the watchfulness eyes of another on me
I change my gaze to look into my own room
A petite figure bends o’er me.

I feel a breeze across my face
When the veil reclaims this residence
Of the other place,
Out of my world and into the other
Which is also my own
From there I came from
There I shall be again.

Once my earthen body perishes,
I will learn again
To peer through the veil
To watch the living, as I now watch the dead.

"The Road Less Traveled"

Now, I read a lot….I know big shocker “A writer that reads a lot? Get out of here!” No really. (It’s kind of like being Irish and having a drinking problem; it goes without saying doesn’t it? If you’re Irish and you don’t have a drinking problem, then you can go ahead and mention it, otherwise, you don’t really have to say anything.) But, I do, I read a lot, and I love to read. It has become my pet project to read all of the books on Mama’s bookshelf, and, like me, she’s a writer, and thereby she’s a big reader too. So, I've set myself quite a big project.


I’ve begun to read a book called “The Road Less Traveled” written by M. Scott Peck., M.D. It’s a pretty heavy book and it makes me stop and think, and I love to think, so I’m thoroughly enjoying this book. The main reason behind me reading this book is so that I can read (and understand) the sequel “People of The Lie” also written by Scott Peck. The reason behind my desire to read the sequel, is that it just kind of jumped out at me. If you are a big reader then you know the feeling when you walk into a book store, and (after you’ve calmed yourself down from the excitement brought on by all these books!!) you start looking at some of the book titles, some books just jump out and scream “Read me! Read me! Put down that crappy novel you’re holding and PICK ME!!!” Well, that’s what “People of The Lie” kind of did for me, except this time I wasn’t in the books store, I was in my living room, and I wasn’t holding a crappy novel, or even reading one for that matter (I was reading “Doc Holiday, The Life, The Legend” by Gary L. Robert, which could be considered crappy for Robert’s inability to write a story in a smooth and flowing manner, I suppose) but I have decided to set that one aside for now, until such a time that Scott Peck’s writing can no longer hold my attention. (I’m ADD in case you haven’t been able to interpret that from my writing yet.)

A Dog in My Lap

I was outside petting my adorable dog, (I know I’ve posted about my dog in the past, but I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned just how adorable he really is, despite his extra-large-doggie size; so let me just say, if God owned a dog, he’d look exactly like mine.) Yesterday, as I was paying homage to the beast, my little brother came outside to pay his respects as well. I was sitting in a chair that we keep outside, even though I don’t think it was really made for that purpose. Merlin, my pooch, got all perky with all the attention (he’s still acts like a puppy whenever he gets really excited) and he was bouncing between my brother and me.
Once when Merlin was getting pets from me, I said “Go get Zak,” and I playfully shooed my dog away with my hands. Instead of tilting his head at me, or going over to Zak like I expected, my dog jumped into my lap. My dog is so huge, that his bottom half stayed on the ground while his top half pinned me down in the chair, eventually he clamored down.
Then, just as an experiment, I tried it again. Shooing my dog with my hands I said, “Go get Zak,” immediately preceding which, my dog hopped into my lap. I told Zak to go and get the camera, and of course Merlin jumped down to see where Zak was going.
Once Zak got the camer it took a couple of tries this time before my dog would grace me with the honor of him leaping into my too-small-human lap. But we finally got him lying in my lap on film, which is good, because no one would have believed us if we didn’t...

Boy in Hell's Kitchen

A boy in a shop
Served the costumers
While his pop
Went calling Mortimers
The man who sold them flour
The boy mined the store
Well over an hour
Before his brother
Walked through the door
“Switch time” said the brother

The boy stalked out
He disliked the way
His brother went about
Bossing when pop was away

And he hated the task
He was to undertake
To bake the bread
The day was so hot
He believed the bread
Need only to bask
In the sun to bake
But complain he could not

For baking was the only way
To get the needed money
So he could pay
For pretty things for little Bonny

The boys little sister
And greatest charm
Never had she done harm
To any living creature
Great or small
As pretty as a picture
She stood three feet tall

The child was blessed
With a smile
To be the best
Off all the chil’
In the village if Esting
Baking bread was the only way
To get the funding
The boy needed to pay

For a gift for Angel
His trustiest love of love
For her he’d walk to hell
His sweet turtledove

He remembered his Angel
As he stepped into the kitchen of hell
For his loves that were true.

My Novel

Achievement
Yesterday I finally hit two hundred pages for my novel “Survival”. It was something that I never thought would happen at any point in the process of writing this story.

In the Beginning
It started out as a little imaginary life of four friends knocking around in New York City, which came to me one time as I was day dreaming, as we storytellers are prone to do. It didn’t have a plot, story line or anything else that made it stand out as something worth continuing. A large number of my stories came from daydreaming, and to sort out the good and the bad and the ugly, I tend to stick with the ones that have some sort of direction when I first dream them up, rather than having to start with almost nothing, and having nowhere to go. This daydream however, I remember was a particularly lengthy one, and even though there was no plot or direction, I couldn’t find a good excuse to pass it up, because by the time my daydreaming session was over, I had completely lost my heart and soul to these characters.
I hesitated however, I didn’t rush over to the notepad, or to my laptop as many writers claim to do right after they finish their astounding dream that was the start of a story that earned them $10 million overnight. No, I was nervous, the thought of taking the time to write down something that I the creator, had absolutely no idea, or a whisper of an idea of where this tale would lead, was frightening. I was an idiot. To excuse my imbecility, I had only written two books, and had never had experienced the phenomena of a story taking a life of its own, with little or no encouragement by us supposed “artists”. I should have shown some back bone and gotten started right away, and let it take me where it was going to take me. But I didn’t. Which brings up the question, if I had started right away, would it have turned into the story that it has become now? Would it have been better, or worse? We shall never know, but I can honestly say that I have absolutely no complaints about this manuscript, though it is far from being finished, I have no complaints as of yet. (I’m sure, once I reach the editing stage, my state of mind will be quite different.)
Once I finally wrote down all that my daydream had shown me, and a little bit more, (like I mentioned earlier, manuscripts tend to take on a life of their own once you let them take control.) However, I still had no plot, or direction.

A Direction
I had a friend whom I had known for a few months, and we had discovered the “twilight” books together, and enjoyed the first three and had gone to see the first movie together. We were lounging in my room, and I mentioned that I had just finished writing a book. Before I could say anything more about it, she said, “Let me guess, it’s a vampire book.” Which prompted me to say, it wasn’t, in fact, it was a small collection of animal stories for children. While the pause after that was slightly awkward, the thought came to me: Why not write a vampire story? Before my friend left for the day, I had already made up my mind that I wouldn’t begin a new story; I would just change my unformed story into my own vampire tale.

The Challenge
Then the fourth and final “twilight” book came out, and I was thoroughly disappointed, as I believe a number of people were. “I could have written a much better ending than that.” I thought to myself. It wasn’t so much the ending that bothered me either, it was the fact that the characters that I had grown so fond of in that love tale, changed in the final book. They did things that I felt were seriously out of character, and there were a number of unanswered questions in the story. The “twilight” magic that had entranced me had been brutally murdered, it was sad really. Such a promising story curled up and dried like leaves on a tree. But it taught me a lesson, I needed to ask more questions when I write, make double sure that all the subplots, as well as the main plot, are addressed. It was then that I challenged myself, though it was entirely subconscious at the time, that my vampire tale would be better than all “twilight” series books. Am I crazy? You bet.

The Settling
After my decision, subconscious as it was, I was still without a plot for my lovable characters, though I had forced the metamorphoses of one character from human to vampire (much to her displeasure I might add.) I let the story sit, unable to think past those first two chapters. There were times, after I had let it sit for some time, I considered deleting the darn thing and starting over again, or just deleting it and letting it die into nonexistence. A couple times I even sat down with the intention of just that, but then I would read a bit of it, just to see if there was something worth salvaging for another story, and I would find that it was all worth saving. Everything was good. You could say that each time I considered braking up; I would fall in love all over again.
People have this notion that there is only one type of creative writing process. That you must “strike while the iron is hot” or take the chance of losing that inspirational moment, and sometimes, yes, that is the case. But not in this case, the writing process for this tale started really slowly. The storyteller in me knew instinctually that if I left it alone, my subconscious mind would work on the story and would send my conscious mind a mental telegram when it was ready. But, as I mentioned before, I didn’t leave it alone, I kept going back, hoping that my iron would get hot this time, which probably made the entire process take longer than it probably would have, if my conscious mind had just stopped poking at my subconscious mind at let it work on its own without any interruptions. My excuse for this is, as I mentioned before, my inexperience in writing stories as a whole. I had only ever had the “strike the iron while it’s hot” kind of inspiration at this point in time. But eventually, my conscious mind got the message, and I left my story to settle while I concentrated on other immediate things: like moving across the country….

The Plot
One day it happened, it was after my mom and I had gone to a new writer’s group meeting, called Coffee House Writers Group. The people seemed nice, and I was thinking of maybe joining along with my mom; and if I did join: which story would I bring? At first I thought I’d bring one of my finished tales, and see if I could get any helpful hints to finish it up. Then all of a sudden, I got my telegram from my subconscious mind. It had come up with a plot, but it needed my conscious mind to ask more questions to fill in the little pot holes (or more accurately: “plot” holes), if it was ever going to be a complete story and beat the cause of one of the biggest vampire crazes of all time…

Breaking Benjamin - Dear Agony ( Full Song From The 4th Album / Lyrics )

I had this song going around in my head all through the morning. Enjoy...

Phone calls, Emails, Texting, and Crap

First off, I’ll admit, I’m not very hip with technology in general. Whenever there is a new gadget around the house and I find myself having to use it (even if it’s just a new phone or computer) I’m constantly afraid that it’s just going to burst into flames the moment I push a button. It hasn’t happened yet, but I haven’t ruled it out as an impossibility yet.
As I look around at the world around me, I find that technology is always in some evolutionary stage. Everything is “smaller, shinier and faster” and every time the older gadget starts to wear out, there is always a new one to replace it – coincidence? I don’t think so. This new gadget always has something new and improved about it, and “everybody will have it”. Sure, sure we all will. But what about those people who bought something that does virtually the same thing, but the companies are competitors, so their do-hicky and your what-cha-ma-call-it aren’t compatible for certain things. And their do-hicky always has a thing-a-ma-jig that your what-cha-ma-call-it doesn’t have, and/or visa-versa.
Gadgets have changed the way we communicate, live and even think. Being the cynical/technologically-retarded person that I am, I ask myself questions that average people (which are gadget consumers/suckers) don’t ask.
For example: Is it worth it? Technology has made communication with people faster and more convenient than back in…oh, let’s say the American Civil War days. True, you don’t have to walk all the way across town to call on somebody, now you can talk about the time of day without leaving your own home. That’s much better than writting a letter right?
To a certain extent, yes, but there are a lot of things you can’t properly communicate over the phone, email or text messaging. Like emotions, for example. In official business transactions, you don’t really need much emotion to convey your message, so that’s alright I guess. But, who has those anymore? Now a days, your co-workers and even bosses are your “buddies” and business people end up addressing co-workers in a comfortable and familiar manner, and talk about things other than business. That’s okay too I suppose. But because you aren’t speaking face-to-face, jokes or even casual comments can be misinterpreted. This can lead to confusion, embarrassment and sometimes even frustration, rage or hurt feelings on someone’s part.

So, are these gadgets worth it? There is so much communication going on in the world, just judging by individual text messages, emails, and phone calls, but do you ever stop to wonder if you are truly communicating? Are you truly expressing your feelings and opinions in a comprehensive and expressive way that interprets your feelings to the fullest of your capabilities? During the Civil War, when they were calling on a neighbor, they could use all of their communicating abilities such as: facial expression, hand and body gestures and tone of voice to express their feelings and opinions to their fullest ability. They had a much slimmer chance of being misunderstood. Can we say the same for our modes of communication now? Does the ability to “communicate instantly”, come at too high a price?

Why me?

A few weeks ago, my family and I were going to see the Getty Villa. We were all excited to go, or my parents and I were anyway. (It's hard to tell with my brothers.)
I woke up early that morning to cramps (which is, hands down, the most agonizing reminder that I am a girl.)
I hoped that it would soon pass, but it didn't. I was still lying on the floor of my bedroom when my parents' alarm went off. I still hadn't moved as my father made his way down the hall with the wake up call.
Once he saw me, he didn't have to say anything to know what was going on. He asked if I had eaten breakfast, and I gave him a negative.
He left for a few moments and came back with a banana and a water bottle. After I thanked him, I wondered: why do my cramps bring out the best in my family?
Both my brothers passed by and expressed their sympathy in their own way.
Eventually I made my way to the breakfast table and had some oatmeal, I still hoped that I was reaching a turning point...
When it came time to leave, I wasn't dressed yet, and I was back to lying down. By all accounts, I had turned green, which is not my best color.
Mama had asked if she should stay with me while the guys went, I said no, she was the one who really, really, really wanted to go, it would have been completely pointless if neither she nor I went.
So I didn't go to the Getty Villa but I hope next time will be better.

Shinedown - What A Shame (lyrics)

Sketches

I've been sketching lately. Which is something I've always done on and off throughout my life. I start drawing, then I keep it up everyday for a few weeks, then I'll just stop.
This time I started because I got a new sketch pad, and I couldn't wait to brake it in, there's just something about a new pad of paper that gets my creative juices flowing. Whether it be lined paper and I'm inspired to write a story, or sketch paper and I want to draw.
I don't get that way when I see a blank page on my Microsoft Office Word, or on my lap top paint program. I have to already be inspired or motivated before I even open up a window on my computer.

Washing the Dogs

Every time it’s the same old story:
A brother or two and I go out, armed with the bottle of shampoo and sensitive doggy skin spray. Every time my younger brother grabs the collar of Tippy and drags her into the sunlight. If the other brother is present he is in charge of the water, if not, I am. The water is turned on and the little dog trembles in the uttermost terror as the cold water works its way through the layers of fur and accumulated grease and dirt that is the reason behind our mission.
Around the point that the shampoo is applied I run in to get the towels that I always forget to bring with me. Running back outside we rinse of the dog that does not look unlike a wet rat.
After allowing the ashamed animal to have the pleasure of shaking off the water and drenching my unfortunate brothers, (I refuse to be near the dogs when they shake) we dry off the little mutant that slowly begins to resemble a dog. She begins to wag her tail with pleasure, as we towel her off. My dog isn’t any better. Wouldn’t you think they would have understood that in order to have the wonderful doggy bliss of a getting toweled down we have to get them wet first? Doesn’t watering them give them the wonder feeling of getting cooled off on a warm summer’s day?
Yet the next time we go out to wash the dogs, my brothers have to chase them down and drag them into place.

Washing The Windows

I was outside washing the windows, and my dog was looking at me forlornly, the way he usually does when he can see me and I'm not petting him. Then it slowly dawned on me as he continued to stare at me like I was betraying him, that the motions that I made with my hands across the glass as I rubbed it dry, were remarkably similar to the hand motions that involve petting a dog.

"Oh Merlin," I said shaking my head, "you're making me feel bad for washing the windows...You dog."

He sighed dejectedly and walked away.

A Villiage Girl and a Captain Walk Together

As the small village girl led the tired military captain to the town Inn she commented that he didn’t seem like a captain.
“Don’t get me wrong,” the simple country girl said, “I hear you fight well and all, for one so young. But your voice is too soft to give commands and be taken seriously. In fact, everything about you is all wrong to be a man of war. You have a goodness about you that doesn’t belong on a battlefield.”
“I do what I have to,” he replied shortly, and then his voice softened as he looked at the girl. “I know my job is to kill, and take life; so that’s what I do. I’ve learned to be good as what I have to do.” He paused, “Sometimes you just need to do what you’re told to, even if you don’t like id….even if you don’t agree with it….” The soldiers mind wondered for a moment.
“Amazing isn’t it, life?” the captain said, “We think it’s so precious that some of us are willing to compromise our own morals and beliefs just to keep on living…
“But when all is said and done, once everything that can be compromised has been; when everything has been taken away or changed; and yourself compromised and changed, is it worth it? Is it even a life that we lead anymore?” He glanced down at the girl traveling beside him. Innocent and pure, her eyes wide and full of pity for the captain, but did she really understand what he spoke of? He prayed she didn’t and that she never would.
Since his soul was now forfeit, he then and there swore to make is his duty to ensure that she and others like this girl, would never have to make the choices he had made what seem like an eternity ago, or to know the pain and loss he had gone through just to understand that you don’t always make your own life; you can’t always choose your own future. So when you do have a chance to make your own choices, you need to choose the path that is good for your soul.
It is better to go against country, family, and friends than to go against your own conscious; because it is you who lives with your choices, it is you who has to sleep with yourself at night; and no matter whom you are, or where you are, or what you did, everyone dies alone. It will just be you and your choices that walk down that tunnel towards the light of the next life.
Just as the captain decided to pay the village girl who showed him the way, enough gold to feed her family through the winter time, before walking into the Inn and eating a dinner of bread and cheese and sleeping in the cheapest room that the Inn keeper had open.

Writing

Writing a book can be a really stressful thing. Speaking for myself of course, I hate editing, and we all know that editing is the final touches that can make any manuscript great, passable, or crappy. There's just too much editing to be done for me to do it in one sitting.

First there's the spell check and simple grammar editing that needs to be done, but thanks to computers, that process has been made easier...or not. I don't know about you, but I have found that grammatically incorrect sentences can be what makes a book believable. Nobody speaks with perfect grammar. So, it's impossible to write an entire book with a dialog, and not have some grammatical errors in them. So, now when you're spell checking, you have to remember to ignore all of these different mistakes, which aren't really mistakes at all, their deliberate.

Second there's getting the manuscript off of the computer and on to paper. At this point I usually read whatever it is I am about to print several times over before I actually print it, so that there will be fewer, or possibly no errors after it's printed. (That has yet to happen to me however.) After I have the work on paper, I either read all of it or portions of it, aloud to either myself or to somebody else. No matter what method I use, there is usually a truck load of mistakes found, whether they are; spelling, grammar, or plot mistakes, they are there and they need to be fixed. Once the printed manuscript has been thoroughly butchered to almost beyond recognition, I go back onto my computer and make the changes that are necessary.

The third step is almost exactly like the second. I may have to print out my work three or four times before I believe that the work is as perfect as it can possibly be.

In the end, I am satisfied that I have done all that I can to make my work perfect, I have spent more time editing than I did creating the main idea for the story, building up the story, and writing the darn thing down.
I don't have an ending for this, so.....

Papa Roach - Kick in the Teeth LIVE

Here is Papa Roach's new single "Kick in The Teeth" I'm posting it everywhere I can, in hopes of winning a contest that they are having: everyone that posts their video on their blog, facebook, twitter, myspace, (whatever) and proves that they did post the video by putting the link to where they posted in on their web site, are entered in the contest. Not that I have officially confused you. Enjoy the music!!

Art; Look Around

I have many interests, but the main on is art.
Writing is art, photography is art, decoration is art, cooking is art, music is art construction is art; training an animal, or raising a child are both very delicate arts. Art makes life interesting, exciting, and makes it wroth living. Life without art, is like a life without love....

Look around today, and see the art that you never knew was there before. Remember it and appreciate it for what it is.

Congratulations, or Not (A true story)

November 2009

Samantha was relaxed, and happy, and there were very few sixteen year old girls who had more right to feel that way than her. She had completed something that had been incredibly difficult, very few girls her age had done it: She had completed the Girl Scout Gold Award, which was the hardest thing she had ever done in her short life. It had been emotionally and physically draining on a level that she had never experienced before. But as she and her mother helped everybody who had made her dream possible clean up, she felt as if an huge load had lifted off of her shoulders. Starting an International Fair had been anything but a walk in the park; there had been time changes, last minute cancellations, and numerous misprints in the newspaper as to the time of the fair.
The night before, Samantha had little sleep, all the planning was over, she had seen with her own eyes the fair begin to take shape in the Riordan Hall auditorium earlier that day, her job was done. Now matter what happened now, she had completed her project for the Girl Scout Gold Award, even if no one showed up to the fair, she was going to get her award.....that's what she kept telling herself, and that's what her mother kept telling her too. However, the thought of an empty auditorium, sent chills down her spin, and rendered her sleepless.
Despite all off the set backs, and her worries, the fair was a huge success. Nothing could have gone better. As Samantha thanked everyone and everyone congratulated her, she felt as if all was right with the world, even if she could fly, her heart could not have been soaring higher.....


May 2010

In May the first congratulation certificate arrived, it was from the State Governor. Her mom was so excited, even more excited than Samantha herself.
It's just another piece of paper. She thought to herself, Nice paper, thick paper, pretty paper with a signature....but still just another piece of paper. Samantha was a very active young woman, who put herself out into different contests. She had one picture frame that she kept all of her certificates in. There were certificates for a large variety of thing: art and writing contest, there were certificates from dog training graduations, to piano contests. Certificates weren't really a big deal for her. She got them all the time. The only reason Samantha kept them in a frame was to keep them from getting wrinkled, (after all, she might actually care someday.) But if her mom wanted to buy her a frame so that this particular certificate could be all by itself, Samantha wasn't going to burst her bubble.


June 2010

Samantha's dad picked up the mail that morning. There was a manila envelope addressed to his daughter, he looked at the return address and saw that it was from Washington, the Supreme Court of the United States of America, no less. He couldn't wait to drive home and ask his daughter to open, so he opened it as soon as he was in his car. When he saw what was inside, he started to fume....
When he got home Samantha was serving herself left-overs for lunch. They said hello to one another, and talked about little things. Once Samantha sat down at the dinning table with her lunch, he tossed the manila envelope across the table to her.
"It's really sad," he said.
Samantha didn't bother looking at the return address, (she rarely did) as she reached in to it out, the first thing she noticed was the thickness of the paper.
It has to be a certificate, probably for my Gold Award. They must have spelled my name wrong, that would explain Papa's comment. The first thing she noticed when she had gotten it out of the envelope was that it had gotten wet. The color from the envelope had seeped into the thick certificate paper, making it look like someone had peed on it. She held the certificate on the edges, (it would just be her luck if someone had peed on it.) She looked at her name and blinked, not knowing what to say. Not only had they butchered her last name, but they hadn't gotten her first name right either: "S-a-m-a-t-h-a"
"Who is that?" her dad asked sarcastically.
"I dunno," was her reply. She felt strange, a large portion of her wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the mistake....but there was another part of her that felt upset, even hurt.
After all of her hard work, they couldn't even take the time to spell her name right on a certificate?

The whole point of a certificate was to make the recipient know that someone appreciated the hard work that was done, and if you appreciate somebody, you make doubly sure that everything about the certificate was just right.....Even the graduation paper she had gotten for dog training had her name spelled right; and all that she needed to do to get that was show up with her dog once a week, and try to keep her dog under some level of control. But the hardest thing she had ever done in her life; something that was honored and appreciated by a large portion of the community; something that was recognized as one of the greatest things that a teenage girl could ever do; something that helped bring people together to complete a common goal; something that helped better the community....You would think that a certificate for something like; a secretary would at least hit spell check. Upon closer examination, she and her mother found that Samantha's last name had been spelled wrong in the certificate from the governor, and all the other letters of congratulation as well.
If this was how people treated someone who had done something constructive and positive to help her community....it was a wonder that anybody anywhere ever bothered to do it.


Now

All of this ran through Samantha's mind as she sat down to her computer. It was running a live update. As she waited for the update to finish, she wondered how she could possibly make the twisted feeling in the pit of her stomach go away, and to make the corners of her eyes stop pricking with tears - tears that she did not want to shed....that would change anything, it would only change her face from dry to wet.
Writing was had always been the way she expressed her emotions, and vent out her frustration. As she allowed the live update to restart her computer, she made a mental list of all the websites she would post her story on.

Papa Roach [Forever] ACOUSTIC!

I love this band, I hope you enjoy this acoustic arrangement of one of my favorite songs.

Creeping Down the Hallway

Creeping down the Hallway

Quiet as a mouse,

Girl sneaks away

In the old house.

Up and down the stairs

Shadows on the walls

Nobody cares

If the spirit falls.

When she was living

All that she knew

Was the mother called "Darling"

And a father that was new,

Daddy she called him,

though he was not

It didn't matter to him;

Of another she knew not.

Creeping Down the Library,

Quiet as a Mouse

The empty shelves are airy

In the little house.

Memories are Alive,

For the dead Girl

Every absent book Survive

In Deaths World.

Parents read a fairy book

To the little Girl

Before the fever Took

Away the quiet Girl

Now the house is Abandoned,

The books are Gone,

The gods Commanded

The Girl not live Long

Creeping in the House,

Without company of Mother

And her Spouse,

The Girl refuses another

Chance at Life,

Full of fun and Play.

In the Shell of her Old Life

She prefers to Stay.

Silent are the Rooms,

Long are the Days.

She wanders through the tooms

Remembering her lost Ways.

Creeping down the Hallway

Quiet as a Mouse

See her if you may,

In the abandoned House.

There a family was Broken,

Hearts were Shattered

There are Out-spoken

Who ask if it all Mattered;

To one little Girl

Whose Life was snuffed Out

The one quiet Girl

Who I spoke About

It was all she Knew

And it mattered Much,

It matters Still.

Those who believe in Such,

Know she shall Stay,

Until Judgment Day,

And Trumpets Play,

Then she shall go Away.

She shall go to Heaven

Where her family await,

She shall go by Raven,

To those who Dictate,

The ending for All,

In life or in Death,

No one shall Appall

The girl whom in Death,

Loved her home

Her family and her past,

At End of Time, she shall go Home

To rest at Last.

Just Words

Everyone has heard the saying "sticks and stones my break my bones but names will never hurt me" and we all know that's not true. It's just a subtle way for parents to tell their children to "shut up and toughen up."
Words are powerful things, they can be used to communicate the way you feel, they can be used to deceive, they can be used to move others in a certain direction, or to a certain way of thinking, such as a politician trying to win your vote. The power of words is awe inspiring, they can be used to boost someones self-esteem, or to bring it crashing down. We would still be gathered around in a cave if it weren't for word: (ug, food.)
If the spoken word is the King of ingeniousness, then the written word is the god of ingeniousness. The written word is more credible in a courtroom, than hearsay. Written words tell us the way of life was hundreds of years ago. We can even find ancient ideas that are still relevant to the present date.
Some people say fire was the greatest invention of man, others say the wheel, and still others say the microwave. But I say that words, (especially written words) are the greatest accomplishment of mankind. If it weren't for words, we wouldn't know how to make a fire, wheel, or microwave now would we?

The Face of a Clock

When I was in first grade, I got so bored, I memorized all of the little cut out crafts that were pined to the cork board plaque on the wall. The teacher had made them all, which never made sense to me. Why would a teacher take the time and the energy to cut out colorful flowers for the spring, Suns for the summer, and leaves for the fall (winter was the only time we students actually made the paper decorations, they were paper snowflakes, of course, but then we had to clean up the mess after we were done.)
Then there was the Alphabet that was taped to across the top of my desk, the capital letters right next to the little letters, and all of the vowels (Except Y and W)were red, the rest were in black type. Beneath the alphabet was out first name, spelt out by the teacher on the first day of class. This entire arrangement always confuse me...
I had learned the alphabet when I was about two (thank you Barney!) and how to spell and write my name long before I had ever set foot in a school room. (Actually that's a bit of a lie, Mama was going through college when I was a baby, and she used to take me with her to the classes.) The first time I set foot in a class room where I was the one who was supposed to be learning....(No, that's not true either, I don't think I was meant to learn anything in school and anything I did learn was probably an accident.) But that's all besides the point. Why were they taking all of this trouble to make sure that the alphabet and my name were right under my nose? And why didn't they make Y and W red too? Or maybe purple, since they don't always work as vowels. The whole thing just confused me, and it shook some of the foundation blocks of my reading and writing skills in the process.....so it was more of a hindrance than a help.
When the teacher was taping that table alphabet/name table tag to the desk, I told the teacher that I already knew the alphabet, and I knew how to spell my name. She said "that was very nice" but she was putting it down so that I would always know which desk was mine. I told her not to worry about it, I was sure that I could remember which one it was. Then she said it was for the other kids so that they would know that desk wasn't theirs. But this didn't make any sense either, because these kids had already been in school for a longer time than me, and I had just arrived from another state; wouldn't they know their own desk from another desk? Especially since their desk had their name written on it? I just said "Oh." and we moved on.

Another thing I remember about first grade is the face of the clock. Either I was looking at the clock as I waited for the other kids to stop talking so that the class would start; or when I was waiting for the kids to be quiet and get in a line so that we could go out to recess, or to go to another class, or to eat lunch; or when I was waiting for the "appropriate time" to go the bathroom.
In the class room, Cogsworth and I got along really well. He was as silent as I was, and his face was filled with disapproval as he looked at the screaming Rug Rats that were my classmates.....yes, he and I got a long really well.

Clowns and Vampires, Their Similarities

1. Clowns and vampires frighten children (but of course we all knew that.)
2. Clowns and vampires both pretend to be what people want to see, on one hand we have a man (usually) dressed and made up to give an image of mirth to a party. On the other hand we have the vampire, who is dressed up an made up to seem like an ordinary person (they aren't.)
3. Clowns and vampires are both ridiculed by most of the public (Captain Obvious, I arrrre matey.)
4. Vampires and clowns have appeared in movies and books as killers (but then again, what hasn't?)
5. Clowns and vampires have also been cast as the victim of circumstances. (The clown doesn't plan upon being run threw by a bull horn, does he?)

A Snowman's Chance in Hell

A Snowman's chance in hell,

I could not tell

If it is the average image of it,

He would not last a minute.

Fire and torture, torture and fire.

However,

does one consider,

that maybe hell is cold?

Remember that song of old?

"When hell freezes over"

Well, do not tell

But my picture if hell

It is frozen over.

A man made of snow

Will last forever

In the never

ending storm of Snow.

Eleven Blue Egyptians

Eleven blue Egyptians walked through Cairo. The natives tried to pretend that they didn't notice that they were blue. But they were undeniably....well, blue.
The English men and ladies all gazed upon then in disapproval.
"How dare they be blue," they said amongst themselves, "have they no shame?" They asked each other.

Some other Egyptians tried to encourage the blue ones to come inside, out of sight of the disapproving Englishman. But the eleven went along their way, unperturbed by the disturbance they were creating.

The eleven walked into a hut, that they called home. And they enjoyed the company of their blue cats, which were less snobby than ordinary cats. They prepared and ate a blue diner and they slept under blue blankets that night. And all was well and normal in their world. You could say they looked at the world with blue colored glasses.

Songs That Help Us To Remember

Song of Love

Song of Joy

Song of Memory

Song of Battle

Song of Lost

Song of Memory

Song of Hate

Song of Fate

Song of Memory

Song of Death

Song of Past

Song of Memory

Song of Change

Song of Victory

Song of Memory

Song of Murder

Song of Blood

Song of Memory

Song of Life

Song of Child

Song of Memory

SSDD

Happy Birthday to me,

I never did see,

Why there can't be

Peace the Earth

On the day of my Birth.

Thro' the day I am wishing,

For the birds to sing,

The Peace Song of the Dove,

For nothing should be above,

Hope, faith, and love.

But as long as man,

Live as if he can

Rule with a han'

A han' that does not heed,

Or show pity to those in need.

On my day I shall say,

Same Shit Different Day

Buddhist Temple

One sunny Sunday afternoon, an average American family drove down to the Buddhist Temple in Hacienda Heights California. The father was telling the rest of the family that the last time he had seen the temple it was still under construction, but even in its unfinished state it had been extraordinary to see. As the family pulled up to the parking lot entry, the mother expressed concern that perhaps the general public could only go inside on certain days, or on an appointed tour. But the father point to the clearly written WELCOME sign past the entrance at the gate. He said, since there was a greeting in English, he thought it would be alright. Once the family secured a parking space, the family stood in awe of the intricate detail and beauty of the temple. Once they walked into the looming entrance, they looked at the huge alter immediately inside the door. The entire family felt deeply embarrassed and self-conscious, for they had not thought to bring anything. They all briefly admired the inside of the entrance building, then went along a hallway to the left of the entrance doors. They went out into the sunshine and again, the family lost their breath at the sight of a second temple across the courtyard.

The family had not expected to see so much. So there was not enough time to truly admire the gardens, or to visit the museum, or to spend much time in the gift shop. So, the family left that afternoon, having seen more than they had expected, however not fully satisfied with their rather rushed and choppy self-tour. But they all left with the conviction that it would not be the last time they laid eyes on the Buddhist Temple.

(The writer acknowledges that she is not familiar with the terminology of the Buddhist Temple in Hacienda Heights. She begs the readers to forgive her ignorance, she meant no offence. She just wished to share the beauty and the experience of visiting the temple with others.)

Sweet16

As I approach my seventeenth birthday, I am reminded of my last birthday: my Sweet16.

A few weeks before my Sweet16 my Mama asked what I wanted as far as cake, party, a special dinner, or outing, whatever. I said, just a cake and presents, like every year, would be fine with me. My Mama was....concerned. She knows most girls have something special on their Sweet16 and I didn't seem to care. And, like always, whenever I do something that excludes people from outside my family, when it's customary to have someone from the outside become involved, she wondered if she was doing something wrong with me; she wasn't worried about what other people would think of her bringing me up, she was concerned that later I might regret not having some memories of an average Sweet16 party, making me have even fewer things in common with most girls of my generation.
I assured her (several times) that I really didn't care, "Even if I wanted to invite someone, who would I invite?? I don't have any close friends." Now that just opened a whole other can of worms inside my Mama's head. So I quickly added, "Having no friends isn't a bad thing....it just means that I don't have anybody that can stab me in the back." Once Mama stopped laughing, she had stopped worrying.

California

The sun shines down

As bright as my aura crown



The flowers of May

I wish them to stay



The birds sing sweet

They don't miss a beat



The children run

Beneath the sun



The Dogs in the shade they sleep

Easy is the life they keep



As the sun shines down

Bright as my aura crown

Puzzles

I love puzzles, it exercises my brain in a way that I like. I enjoy mysteries too, whether they are movies or plays or a book I enjoy them, I guess they could be considered a kind of puzzle. But even if the plot is predictable to me, I still enjoy guessing how exactly it's all going to go down.

My favorite puzzles are not so much what the end picture looks like than the puzzles that are cut in an unusual shape. Although a cute picture is a good motivator when I get stumped and feel like throwing the puzzle out in frustration. The most difficult puzzle I ever did was a puzzle with a ugly, ugly picture, but I wouldn't let is beat me. The puzzle pieces were all cut the same shape and the picture was a bunch of corn ears, (weird huh?) I'll be the first to admit that out of frustration, the puzzle ended up spending several months under the coffee table on several different occasions. But at last the puzzle was solved with some help from my family. The puzzle stayed on the coffee table in it's completed form for a few months before it was taken apart and thrown away. (We showed it whose boss.)

Nothing

Life can be very fruitful and fun, you just have to learn the trick of making time for doing nothing:

Time in the car is a great time to do nothing. If you need to call someone, call before you get in the car, so you won't have to call anyone while you're driving. And if your phone rings while you're in the car, don't answer it. And don't be nervous about explaining when you call them back, just say you were driving; they won't ask for anymore details. And if they do well...you don't really want to spend time with that person anyway, in fact you didn't like them in the first place. While you're in the car, turn on the radio, or pop in a CD, or tape, or whatever you've got. You'll be in a whole lot better mood when you get where you're going, and your chances of being alive when you get to where your going is a whole lot higher if you commit yourself to listening to the radio than trying to find your cell phone to answer a call or to call someone, or to text message. What in the world is up with that anyway? I don't get it. Dial their number and talk to them!

So another way to make time do to nothing is make a date with your bathtub, I'm sure it misses you. Get the bubbles and the rose petals, or floating candles with bath salts; whatever it is that makes you relax. And remember to turn off your phone. When you call people back just say you were in the bath, don't be shy, they won't ask any questions! And if they do well....you don't want anything to do with that person anyway. Another thing about the phone thing, if you don't answer, and they don't leave a message, don't even bother calling them back. It's bogus!! If it was important, the least people could say is "It's Bob call me back."

So, make time to relax, and do nothing. Go to the park, take a breath of air, read a book. Whatever makes you happy, qualifies as nothing. But if someone does call you and you pick up, by all means don't tell them you're doing nothing, it's almost guaranteed they'll give you something to do, and it may be fun and something you want to do that will still qualify as nothing, but you can't assume that; because their advise might be something that you don't enjoy, which equals work. But by then you would have already told them that you aren't doing anything, so you'll have to lie to get out of it, and they'll know you're lying and that's always awkward. Lots of people don't understand the value of doing nothing.

Control

Timothy hurried down the empty hallway, in the back of his mind he knew that there really wasn't any point to hurry. He was already tardy for his first class, so why bother? He couldn't help it though, he at least wanted to give the impression that he had tried to get to class, that he had tried to avoid getting caught by Mr. Principle, but he knew the chances of that were slim. Nigh on impossible in fact.

Sure enough:

"Mr. Garrison!"

Timothy turned reluctantly to face his fate.

"Mr. Garrison," Mr. Principle said in a triumphant voice that would have been appropriate for a spider that had just caught a particularly juicy fly. "Mr. Garrison-"

"I heard you the first two times," Timothy said staring Mr. Principle dead in the face.

"Well, then I won't have to tell you twice to go report to my office immediately."

"What's the point?" Timothy muttered as he turned away.

"What did you say Garrison?" Mr. Principal asked.

"I said what's the point?" Timothy turned around. "I'm here, you're here, why not give me the time of my Detention and I'll see you then?"

"Because it's not Detention that I had in mind," Mr. Principle snapped. "It's a lecture. As an educator I have to instill in you the discipline of follow the rules."

"Well, as an educator, who is concerned for my education, wouldn't it be more appropriate to let me go to class and then lecture me in a time that wouldn't conflict with my curricular studies?" Timothy retaliated.

"Oh, no," Mr. Principle snickered, "It has to be now."

"Why not wait until gym class, that way it will lower my chance of landing the basketball team?" Timothy wasn't giving in. "That way I can still get to class, so that I won't flunk, and after all the tests are the most important thing." Timothy said this sarcastically. "It doesn't only reflect on the progress of the student, but the educators, and the school as a whole. So, by keeping me out of class you are jeopardizing your job. Why not let me slip into class and postpone the obedience lecture to another time?"

"No, it has to be now," Mr. Principal said.

"And I thought that you cared about my education." Timothy said. "You just won't admit that I'm smarter than you are, so you take it out on me by overstepping your authority. I'll go along with though, it after all, you are the 'educated' one." And Timothy went to the principals office.

Memories

I can recall when I was four and five years old, before going to sleep at night I would watch the ghosts glide across the walls in my bedroom. I wasn't frightened, I had always be able to see them.
My brother slept across the hall from me and the way our beds were positioned we could see through our doors and into the other's room. Even though we could not see each other, we would watch the ghosts go from his room to mine and mine to his.
Perhaps it was simply because of our child-like innocents that we weren't afraid of them, or maybe something, or someone told us that there was nothing to fear from them, that I do not recall.



I can also remember when I was in trouble, sometimes I would look beyond the parent who was lecturing me and see a shield of light that encircled the lecturer's body. I was not sure whether what I was seeing was really there, or whether I was just tricking my self into believing that there was something there, because I knew even at that age that I had a wild imagination, and it would get away from me sometimes. I did not find out until recently that what I was seeing was an aura. The electrical bubble that surrounds every one's body.



It amuses me that the longer that I live the more I find out about things I experienced years ago, I guess that it's all just apart of life.

Spring Poem

Spring is on the way,

Think this everyday

And pray

That Spring will stay

In your mind and heart.

We are all apart

of natures loom

Play your part

And love will bloom

When you need it most.

Valentine's Day

Kathy walked into her third grade class early on Valentine's Day. Nobody else was there, not even the teacher. She preferred it that way. She quickly walked across the room to where the Valentine's Day pouches that her entire class had made the day before were hanging on the wall. She took out the Valentine cards that her mother had bought for the occasion and had helped Kathy fill them out with all the names of her class mates correctly.

Then Kathy reached deeper into her bag and pulled out a hand made card, with hand drawn hearts on it. No one knew Kathy had this card, not even her mother. She placed it into the pouched with Frank written on the front with a green crayon.
Sighing now that that was over with, she walked over to her teachers desk and placed an apple on the desk. It was the reddest and prettiest little apple that Kathy could find in the grocery store the day before. She hoped Mrs. Hatter would like it.
Kathy hurried towards the door as fast as she could and she almost ran into Regina, her best friend. After saying hello to her friend Kathy almost ran out of the building, her face red with the fear that somehow Regina could guess what Kathy had been doing.

Class began fifteen minutes after Kathy had put her Valentine's into place. After Roll Call, Mrs. Hatter thanked the child who had given her the apple. Kathy did not say "you're welcome" like her mother had taught her to do when she was thanked, she knew what Trent, the class bully would say as soon as they were on the playground if she did "teacher's pet" "kiss up" or "traitor" and Kathy wasn't going to allow Trent to ruin how happy she felt; Mrs. Hatter like the apple!!
All the class opened their pouches after lunch time. Kathy was happy to see that she and Regina's pouches were almost full. Kathy looked for the Valentine Frank had sent her and put it into an old pink pencil box that she kept all of her favorite things and hid it in her desk.

When recess time came Frank thanked Kathy for the two cards that she had sent to him; he said she was the only one to give him two cards. Kathy had mumbled a "you're welcome" before Frank asked if Kathy would like to go one to the see-saw with him. Kathy said she would.

Then Regina came over with Mark, her Valentine. Regina confessed to Kathy that she had gone over to class early just to give him a special Valentine. Kathy smiled and said she had been doing the same thing, except her Valentine was Frank.

All four of them had a great time see-sawing and laughing and there was nothing Trent, the class bully, could do to ruin their fun.

Cars Love Starbucks

A carpool consisting of a Mother and two sons were burning time by going to the video game store (at the son's request of course.) The son's were determined to get rid of some games that they were tiered of, so they told their driver to please take them to a video game store that was a bit out of their way, but they felt certain that this out of the way video game store would buy up all of their games without any trouble. Mother agrees.

On the way over to the video game store a conversation was "struck up" the subject was something that Mother really cared about: how wonderful her children were. Distracted by her atempt to get her sons to actually believe how wonderful they were, she forgot where she was supposed to be going. Instead of going to the Out-Of-The-Way Game Store, she drove to the Not-So-Out-Of-The-Way Game Store, in which parkinglot there was a Starbucks.

Mother parks the car, and the sons look up with with blushing cheek as Mother continues to "gush" on them. The sons look at the looming building in front of them, then Younger Son says: "Mother, do you want a Starbucks?"

Mother looks up, and sees the sign with the unmistakable logo on it, and without blinking an eyelash says : "Oh! I guess I do!" Mother reaches out and pats the dashboard. "Good car!! It drove me to a Starbucks!" Mother pulls out of the parking space and says: "Oh!" when she sees the Not-So-Out-Of-The-Way Game Store. "Oh! This isn't even the game store you wanted is it?"

"No," replies Older Son, keeping a remarkably straight face. "I said we wanted the Out-Of-The-Way Game Store."

Mother pulls out of parkinglot laughing.

"Don't worry Mother," says Younger Son. "There's a Starbucks in the Out-Of-The-Way Game Store too."

"So there is!" Mother says jauntily. "So my car should just take us there too!!"

They get back on the freeway, laughing merrily. After the sons traded in their games, Car drove them to Starbucks, and Mother bought for them all.

Little Pink Slippers

Little Black eyed girl

Runs through the house

In search of slippers

Long lost

She looks and looks in vain

Her little blue toes

In pain

She is crys "Boo-hoo"s!

Little Black eyed girl

Runs through the house

Her little feet in slippers

Now found

She quickly, quickly goes

Toward her bed

She lays down her head

Warm are her toes

Her little pink slippers

Found at last