Seen but Not Heard

This may seem really mean and I don’t really care. As the title suggests this article is about children, the title is of course based on the phrase “children should be seen and not heard”. I agree with this. If you are a parent and you don’t have the time, patience or love to teach your child not to be obnoxious or rude, you should at least be capable of accomplishing the lesson of silence. Silence is after all golden, even if you have to use the duct tape.

Why do I write this considering I have no children? Well, I leave the house; I am out and about in society and since it is deemed appropriate by our culture to allow children out in the general public, I have to deal with children, not in a personal or social way, just a public manner, which is minimal. We do have to breathe the same air and if the child in question is being disruptive, chances are, it is affecting me. Whether the child opened something in a store or knocked something over and the product is now all over the floor and now that isle or section of the store is closed until the overworked, underpaid employees deem it worth their time to go over and clean it up; or if I’m done shopping and the young human is in line with its creator in front of me and that young human is screaming at the top of its lungs and its owner or creator is doing nothing to silence it or to get out of line to be courteous to the other shoppers. This leaves me with the very unhappy choice of either moving to another line in order to escape the noise, or to stay and endure it. The child in this scenario in this day and age isn’t even “young”. By the way, this excuse of being “young” bothers me a lot. I was never in any point in my life allowed to misbehave so horribly in public. Being young has nothing to do with it; it’s the lack of discipline and care. The child is so ignored that it feels the need to get louder and wilder in order to be acknowledged by its parents. Negative attention is better than no attention at all in the eyes of a child, and then eventually the poor behavior becomes habit. This brings be back to the fact that some children who are disruptive in public aren’t “young”. I’ve seen twelve year-olds and up, throw fits like the ones I’ve described: just because the screams are replaced with whinny demands or screeching protests doesn’t make it less of a tantrum.

The point to all of this is for me to say that I think something isn’t working. The way children are being raised has failed for several generations now. It’s time to rethink the public standard and I am all for going back to “children should be seen and not heard”. As a parent you should be concerned with how your children behave in public, enough that you actually do something to correct your child when they are misbehaving or don’t take them out in public at all until they can behave.

  My Mama wasn’t allowed to go to a restaurant until she was three years old and it was a guarantee she wouldn’t do anything that might ruin the meal. How many three year olds can you name off the top of your head that can sit through a proper dinner meal without getting “bored”? My grandfather was very old fashioned and stuck to the “children should be seen and not heard” rule to the letter. It worked then, so there is no reason for it not to work now; and as for “letting the kids be kids” rubbish, let me tell you, a child can have plenty of fun without screaming just because they like the way their voice echoes in the public bathrooms at Disneyland; and as I have previously stated, a child won’t even get loud if it’s being cared for by its parent. A well cared for child is a happy child; a happy child is a quiet child.

Inspiration

Fall Semester is finally over, and I’m already starting to dread the Spring Semester, but let’s not think about that. Now that I have the time to write, and I mean truly sit down and just do it and not thinking about anything else, or rushing so that I can get it over with and move on to some sort of assignment, self assigned or otherwise.

The subject according to the subject heading I picked is inspiration. So, I’ll start there, the inspiration for this post is that I just visited my Aunt Christine in the hospital today. Well, she’s not really my aunt, but I’ve adopted her. She's just had brain surgery to have a tumor removed. I watched her going through the past year as she prepared herself physically, mentally and spiritually for this surgery and I think I will take away from this time watching and being with her as a really inspirational rather than a scary experience (though it certainly was). After all of the stress and worry it was good to see her picking at her indigestible hospital food and great us with a tired but sweet smile.

I met my aunt not long after my family moved to California and my Mama and I were looking for a place to grow as writers. We found the Coffee House Writers Group and I was very pleased to join it. Christine was both the leader and organizer of the group and now she has definitely earned the title Fearless leader. She's officially one of the bravest people I've ever met. Forget my veteran Grandfather, cousins and Great Uncle, anyone can get drafted.

So, after I wrote my title (yes, sometimes I write a title before writing a post) I asked myself after I chose my title, (or my title chose me) what inspires me? Who inspires me? But most importantly: what does it or they inspire me to do or be?

 I thought of Christine and her poor head looking like something from a horror or graphic civil war film (which are pretty much the same thing) and Christine’s playful comment that she was going to be trying out for Frankenstein’s Monster’s Wife; although now that I think of it, one would be hard pressed to find someone casting for such a roll during Yuletide…

  She inspires me to be happy, to be brave, to write, to smile, to live, to love and above all to be me, especially during hard times.

"This was my week..."

Well, I can’t really make up my mind on whether or not my week was a good one or not.

  On Monday I did the usual house cleaning that I do every first Monday of the month. I washed the bed sheets, just like every Monday, and I made reminder calls to my Avon customers who hadn’t placed any orders this campaign, which this time was everyone, with the exception of my Mama. It was bizarre; did anyone else get the memo about this Monday being, Don’t-Pick-Up-Your-Phone Monday? I kid you not, nobody picked up, and by noon I had placed my order consisting of my order and my Mama’s order without a call back from any of my customers. After I placed the order one customer called to say she didn’t want anything.

  Tuesday was a little bit better. I registered for my college classes, and remarkably enough, I got enough Units to be a full time student and I’m not on any waitlists! I know; I was shocked too.

  Wednesday nothing of import really happened, I put some of the new brochures on some of my customer’s doorsteps.

  Thursday was my Papa’s birthday, and I made cupcakes for him. I also put an Avon brochure in laundry mat that Mama goes to, it’s the end of the first week for Campaign 17 and I’ve only gotten rid of a few booklets. I’m not very pleased with myself, but I can’t really help it. I also found out that I got my first on-line customer order: Mama, shocker. I’m grateful that she ordered, if one customer orders every campaign, it cancels the fee Avon charges for me to have an on-line store; but...it’s still Mama.

  So I feel pretty worthless, but I’m going to keep on working, like I always do.

My Week

This week was very emotionally demanding for me.

 This Monday as some of you may know, was a bigger drag than the regular Monday. I had some serious cramps, which I have not had to deal with on this level for a while, and I needed to make some reminder calls to some of my Avon customers, which wouldn’t have been a big deal if I had been feeling well, as it was, I wasn’t even sure I could speak without groaning, but I go through it alright.

Tuesday I went to the Whittier DMV office to take my driving test and I tell you here and now not to go there ever, ever. I got a woman who was determined to flunk me before she got in the car! Before she came all the way up to the car she ordered, didn’t request: ordered me to get the rosary off of the review mirror. I don’t think it made that much of a difference, but, okay, let’s say she’s worried that it would get in the way of me seeing what’s in the mirror, okay I can deal with that, I’m not that religious, I don’t care if it’s there or not; but still, I can think of at least thirty different ways for her to ask me to take it off the mirror that would have been acceptable from one human being to the other. So, I got Jesus down (wow that looks odd, I thought Jesus was supposed to get himself down [for clarification that’s a joke, and yes, I know I’m going to hell]) and stuck the beads in the cup holder. Once the instructor was in the car and we were going down a neighborhood, she didn’t pay any attention to my driving for the whole first half, she was more concerned with the fact that the air-conditioning in the car didn’t work. At some point she realized all the fussing in the world wasn’t going to get the air cooler in that car, and she told me to pull up to the curb behind a white car, then to stop. I did so, then she told me to backup, I did this, then I kept going, and going and going, I asked how far she wanted me to go, she said she’d tell me when to stop. So I kept going, I must have backed up over a hundred feet. The part of my brain that wasn’t occupied with not hitting the curb was wondering when this would be applicable in a real life situation. After that ridiculousness was over, I was thoroughly shaken and forgot to turn my blinker on and check before I pulled away from the curb, because logically, I was just looking back there and I knew no one was there to signal at, I know the rule is you check and signal no matter what because someone could be there, I know this, but it didn’t even cross my mind to do this until the test woman made a big show of looking behind us after I had already pulled away from the curb, and I thought “Crap,” okay so the word was a little stronger than that, “it’s too late now.” I half-heartedly looked over my shoulder and didn’t bother to flick the blinker on; it was way too late for that. After this I drove much slower, the whole time I was thinking, “What the fink” I’m paraphrasing, “is she going to make me do now?”  She complained about my slow driving and marked me down like I was driving too slowly through the entire drive, (which I wasn’t she was too busy with the air-conditioning to notice) so, she flunked me. That sucked, I need my license before the end of summer, or I don’t know what I’m going to do when school starts. Better luck this Monday I guess, Mama is going to try and teach me how to drive backwards between now and then. We’re going to go over the car controls in my brother’s car too, because I didn’t know where some of them were, (we’re in Southern California, when am I going to use the defroster?) So, hopefully I’ll get it this time, if the tester in Pomona is more reasonable; did I write “more reasonable”? I mean reasonable. Someone reasonable would be nice.

Wednesday was a little better; I went to group counseling for college and got my math level boosted up a level, which is great, because I want to spend as little time in that department as possible.

  Thursday, I rested, and my second Avon shipment arrived and I made all my deliveries, save one.

  Today I went over to a friend’s house and did some quilting stuff with them. I gave away some Avon brochures there, and then went shopping with my mom. So today was all about girl time, it was wonderful.

The Party

Betty-sue ran up the front steps to her cousin’s house, she was half an hour late. Her cousin Bill was turning twenty today, while he might forgive Betty-sue for her tardiness, his girlfriend never would. Betty-sues’ five dollar clearance high heeled shoes clicked on the brick steps as she scampered up to the porch. Hurrying up to the door, she used the reflection the ornamental glass the door afforded her, though the oak of the door was so polished she probably could have used that too, she hurriedly fixed her hair and straightened out her dress and fake pearl necklace, they had been a gift from her mother a few years back and they were precious to her for that reason, however she didn’t feel that her cousin’s significant other and the crowd they tended to associate with would understand. This thought struck her just after she had rung the doorbell, she considered taking the necklace off and stuffing it in her purse, but it crossed her mind that a bare neck might actually be worse than one with costume jewelry.
Slapping on a smile, she clasped her purse containing the twenty dollar gift for her cousin with clammy hands and nervous heart as the maid came to open the door.
Here we go…

{The main purpose of this story is for me to practice writing a piece that can get you into the character’s head, and feel what she’s feeling on that doorway in less than three hundred words. Did I succeed, let me know, just leave a comment!}

EEP! A Mouse!

So my Mama has seen a mouse in the house in the corner of her eye since Tuesday night, and last night while my family was watching Net Flix it made its grand appearance before us all. It seemed like it wanted to get out, so we opened the sliding glass door, and we tried to shoo it out, but it didn’t “shoo” so Papa set up the traps and this morning when I got up the traps were gone, and so was the mouse, now however Papa’s pretty sure he saw another one go into my little brother’s room. So (eww) it’s the only thing that’s (gross) on my (icky) mind right now.

  I got a job with Avon, so joy.

Belief

I remember when I was much younger and my family went to church, I didn’t realize for the longest time that people actually believed the stories in the Bible. It was a gradual realization, there wasn’t really a specific moment in time that it struck me that people took those stories seriously and as actual documented events. Like the Ancient Greek stories that my Mama told me, I thought they were good moral stories to learn from, and that church was just a place where people who had a particular connection with those stories gathered (which I found kind of odd, because I found the tales a little hard to understand because of the way they were written, but they were adults, sometimes adults did things that didn’t make sense to me because I’m the kid. It would all make sense once I was grown up, which in my mind was around fourteen or so). I remember not wanting to accept that adults believed these stories, and having to keep on reminding myself that they thought it was all real so I wouldn’t make a comment that might offend them.

  At one point I tried to think it was all true, I even said it out loud, but it rang false in my ears. The statement made me feel dirty, because I didn’t believe, I just wanted to, really badly, I wanted to, but I didn’t like the feeling that the Lord’s Prayer gave me when I recited it, it was the same feeling I got when I was trying to lie to someone.

  So for years I discouraged my family going to church. When my parents asked if I wanted to go, I would just say I didn’t like getting up early, and they would leave it at that and let me sleep. One year on Easter Papa was feeling some pressure from his boss to go to this Easter play his boss’s church was putting on. I tried to pass the “too early” excuse, but it was an evening show. So we went, and I remember feeling some surprise after the show was over and everyone was invited to come up to the alter and be forgiven all of their sins, and neither of my parents budged. Later, our parents bought us some shakes for behaving so well, even though none of us had wanted to go. As we slurped they explained that sometimes in the work world you had to do things that you wouldn’t normally do, and in this case it was either Papa would have to spend hours on his boss’s boat to go fishing, or go to this play; and that if he didn’t do either, it would have been very awkward. We asked what they thought of the Easter story; the most that they would commit to was that if Jesus was a real person, it didn’t really affect us because it was so long ago. I felt a rush of relief, because I felt that way too, though I wouldn’t have been able to put it to words. It wasn’t until years later that I found out that my parents never stated their own beliefs because they wanted my brothers and I to find our own way, and not be influenced by their opinions when we were too young to make our own, and no matter what conclusions we reached, they would accept it and love us no matter what.

  In my late teens whenever I made a statement about beliefs or religion in general, Mama would present the opposite side of the arguments, which baffled me, then she told me she just wanted me to have my arguments down to the letter, so my opinions would be complete, like a house with four walls, a door and a roof (I’m paraphrasing, she didn’t say this exactly.) As I became more observant and I just saw more of the world in general, I learned that there were people out there who had their opinions, and stood by them, even though their “house” was very incomplete, the one thing that they had finished was a closed and padlocked door to keep all other options and opinions out. So because of my parent’s unique and wise way of upbringing, I feel confident in my house, and that I try to keep all doors and windows open, and I’m not afraid of remodel as circumstances change in my life.

My Apologies - Makeup

First off I want to say I’m sorry for the tardiness of this post. Tuesday just got away from me somehow. It seemed for a moment it was there then the next thing I knew it was midnight: too late to post, so I figured since it was already Wednesday, it couldn’t hurt to wait a few more hours and get some sleep…

  My Post

 So my Mama and I finally got eyeliner, I’m glad because now I have my own and my Mama’s glad that I’ll no longer be “stealing” hers anymore. A while later, I began to reflect on my attitude towards makeup over the years, when I was a little girl I loved makeup, it meant that I looked more like one of the big girls. I got my first mini makeup kit when I was four on my birthday, and that Christmas I got my first acrylic nails, they were light pink with dark pink ballerina slippers on them; they didn’t last through the morning. Also when I was five I got my ears pierced and my first bottle of sparkly blue Bon-Bon nail polish, (which I might add turned out much better than the acrylic nail attempt.) I was eight when I got my first bottle of perfume, it was sparkly blue too, and it was around that time that I finally got through my first makeup kit. After that I got some Cover Girl eye makeup, but I mostly stuck to lip-gloss, and only when my lips were actually chapping.

  By the time I was in my early and mid-teens I felt makeup was unnecessary, vain and utterly pointless. Though Mama did collect some free sample lipstick and lotions for me. She also continued to get me new nail polish (even when I asked her not to) when I was about fourteen she started giving me some of her old nail polish and lipsticks that were “too young” for her now, (at the time I didn’t really understand what she meant by that, even after she explained it to me.)

  It wasn’t until I was fifteen that I put on lipstick and the Cover Girl eye makeup (which I applied to my cheeks as well as my eyes, not realizing that eye makeup, is only supposed to be used on my eyelids,) and purple nail polish, then I changed my mind to blue nail polish, which I just put over the purple polish, which wasn't really done drying yet. (After that of course it took all night for the polish to finally harden.) The occasion that I did all of this for was a Halloween party and I had felt significantly underdressed after I had seen my Mama and decided that a little makeup wouldn’t hurt.

  Once the party was over, I came to the conclusion that makeup was alright, under the right circumstances. I didn’t suddenly start putting on makeup every time I preformed the piano, or made a public presentation. Just every once in a while it would cross my mind that it “wouldn’t hurt” if I added a little bit of makeup to my face. I can actually list all of the occasions and what exactly I used and in the original draft of this blog I actually did make a list. However, now I think that’s a little silly and you’re just going to have to take my word for it.

  Today

I received an email earlier today from my Mama suggesting that I might sell Avon as a first job, and I think I just might. In my early teens I wouldn’t even have considered it, I guess it just goes to show that you can only go so far in one direction before your life just brings you at full circle.

The House Cleaner

Heather’s knees clicked as she finally stood up, she had been on her knees for far too long as she polished the legs to the wooden furniture in the Willis’s house. In her eagerness to got off the floor, she stood up too quickly and got a head rush, or a freebee as her friend Cathy would say. Once the dots had faded she surveyed her work. The room was sparsely furnished, there were no pictures on the walls, and the mantelpiece was dedicated to the diplomas belonging to the master of the house. Heather knew that he had a wife and kids, but you wouldn’t know it looking at this room. It was too phony, too much like a picture in a magazine, even more so since she had just finished whipping away the dust that had gathered since she had cleaned it last week.
Heather gathered up all of her cleaning tools and placed them in their closet next to the laundry room. The brand new chrome washing machine and matching dryer sparkled without so much as a scratch or smudge on the surface. Heather knew from speaking with the housekeeper that neither of these machines was ever employed, since all of the Willis’s clothes were dry cleaned in town.
After she put all the cleaning items away, Heather used the backstairs up to the nursery where the nanny would be keeping an eye on the Willis kids and Heather’s check since the housekeeper was out.
Knocking discretely at the door Heather needed only to wait a few seconds before the disgruntled nanny stepped out of the room, check in hand; she did not invite Heather in, nor greet her in anyway. So Heather let her self-introduction awkwardly fade off as she took the check the nanny offered her before ducking her disheveled head back into the nursery in response to a loud thump and muffled yelp from within the nursery.
Heather checked the amount on the check, which was written out in perfect script with a fountain pen. She tromped down the stairs and out the backdoor as she exited the Stepford house she sighed with relief, some things were just too perfect to be true, she didn’t know what kind of a price Mr. Willis and his family had to pay everyday for their apparently perfect lives, but it had to be a dozy.

The Fence

Rachel stood back to examine the picket fence her brother-in-law was building for her. She could see that it was crooked yet, when she tried to tell him so, he just said that getting it straight would be the last thing he did before he painted it. She had shaken her head and said that’s not the way it works, only to be promptly told that she was not the one who did this for a living and should not expect to know anything about it. Rachel had remained silent and went inside. From that point on she was verbally slapped every time she saw her brother-in-law or her sister. If she asked them how their day was, they would reply fine, but they were dealing with some clients who thought they knew everything about building and kept telling them how to do things when they clearly had no idea what they were talking about; or how much they resented the “know it all types”.  

  Rachel bore it all in silence. She couldn’t think of what to say or do. The fence was finally done being built, all that was left to do was paint it and the entire structure was very lopsided. If she brought up how crooked it was, she risked getting another verbal lashing, but if she said nothing, would it ever be fixed? If she hired someone else, her sister and brother-in-law would both be offended and she would never hear the end of it. Every family gathering will be brought around to her failure to help out her family during this tough time in the economy. None of these scenarios were acceptable, so she decided the best thing she could do was pick the most livable of all the evils; and she knew she could not live with that lousy fence.

  Picking up the phone she called a professional fence builder and had him out there that afternoon and he gave her an estimate to fix it. The price wasn’t too bad, so she told him to get to work on it as soon as he could. Once that was scheduled in she felt a tingle of apprehension. How should she tell her brother-in-law? She decided that sooner rather than later was better. Ever since he started building, he had been very unprofessional about his working hours. He just showed up every once in a while, put a few posts in, or nailed a couple of boards then left. Making it abundantly clear to Rachel that her fence was far down on his priority list. She never knew when he’d show up, he could literally drive up any minute now, and then she’d have to take his bawling on how inconsiderate she was not to call him to say she hired someone else, and he had driven with all the stuff up here just for her.
  Snatching up the phone she quickly dialed his cell phone. She, of course got his message machine (did that man ever pick up the phone?) Leaving a message she hung up and dialed her sister, Rachel thought she might be over doing it a little, but she would just feel better once she talked to one of them, she got the feeling that her sister and brother-in-law didn’t listen to her messages on purpose.
  Thankfully Helen picked up.
  “Hello?”
  “Hi Helen, this is Rachel.”
  “Oh, I was expecting someone else.” Helen replied, not bothering to hide her impatience.
 “Then I’ll make it brief, I’m having some people from the office come over for lunch next week – “
  “Oh, I couldn’t possibly come over; my husband and I are booked every day for the next two weeks.”
  “Well, that’s not really why I called.” Rachel said carefully, she felt as if she were walking of hot coals. “I know how busy you are, and I just wanted to let you know that I’ve hired someone else to finish up my fence, because I really would like it to be finished in time for this lunch – “
  “If you had let us know sooner, we could have rescheduled.” Helen said in false sweetness.
  “It was kind of a last minute thing,” Rachel said carefully.
  “Well, I think we could come over and finish it if it’s really that important.” Helen replied, backpedaling.
  “Oh, no you don’t have to do that – “
  “What are sisters for?”
  “You see I’ve already hired someone else, and they have me scheduled in,” Rachel explained.
  There was a pause.
  “Tell your hubby to call me back so I can send you guys a check, ‘kay?” Rachel asked, trying to sound cheerful.
  “Talk to you later,” Helen said coolly.
  “Okay, see you, bye.”
  Helen hung up.
  Rachel hung up with a grimace, she had the feeling she had just released the dragon.
  However, to her surprise, when she talked to her brother-in-law he sounded downright relieved to be let out of the making of the fence. He said the work had been beneath him anyways, and he wished Rachel the best of luck with the next crew, though they couldn’t possibly measure up to himself ,they were going to have to do. She said she hoped they would too and wished him a good day.
  After she hung up, Rachel wondered how two people with C grade averages could have such big egos.             

Daycare

Mike’s ears were ringing as he left the daycare where he worked. As a teen aged boy, he had gone to his share of rock concerts, and he’d thought the loud music was really bad, but it was nothing compared to the screams of the five to twelve year-olds at the center. The noise those little monkeys (as Mike called them when none of his co-workers were around) made was excruciating after half an hour, but staying for five hours like he had to was a new kind of hell.

  Then there was the fights, blood, pee, broken toys added to the mayhem. There was not one decent kid in the bunch. The new ones that started out okay always turned into one of the monkeys given enough time. It was as if the kids knew they were being abandoned by their parents and they were releasing all of their frustration on everything and everyone around them. Aaahh, the parents; they’re another case in and of themselves: rude, self-absorbed, inconsiderate monkeys in suits.


Monkeys, each and everyone, making more monkeys, then they all wonder why no one acts like a decent human being.

Last Day

Today is the day before my eighteenth birthday. Not only is it the last day I shall be this age, but it is also the last day I shall be a child as far as the law is concerned. It’s a big thing, according to many. Lots of people mark their eighteenth birthday by doing something they weren’t able to do while they were children, such as going to an R rated movie, or buying a pack of cigarettes, not to smoke them, just because you can. I’ve decided to reflect on what I’ve learned before I turn eighteen.

If there is one thing that I have learned during the last seventeen years of my life, it’s that you can always be a kid inside, even while you’re dealing with adult issues. People that look upon the world with the eyes of a child laugh more and cry less. They are more content because they know what makes them happy. People with child’s eyes can cut through the drama and see the heart of a problem. Children know life is simple and that life should be fun instead of hard and cruel. Adults make the world hard, not the world.

I’m facing my adult life with the determination to keep my child’s eyes well taken care of, instead of letting them be blinded by “obligations”, and “responsibilities”.

As long as we live, we learn, and as long as we learn, we make mistakes. Making mistakes is a part of being alive, so why sweat it? Why tangle ourselves in the delusion that life is hard when we hold the key to making it simple? When you hurt someone, you apologize. When you fall, you get back up and clean you wounds and heal. When someone hurts you don’t let them hurt you again; whether that means talking it out, avoiding that subject, or avoiding that person all together.

When I was thirteen, I dreamed that I died. Mama told me that it was my self-consciouses way of acknowledging that my life and body were changing from girl to woman and I wouldn’t be able to go back again. In a sense my childhood was dying, but she said “with every end there is a beginning.” My childhood would be over, and I would be an adult, there is no way to turn back the clock. I will go to college, get some degrees and do things no child could ever do. I will not be able to go outside after a rainstorm and throw mud at my brothers unless I wanted to be put in the psycho ward. There are things I can never do again; but that doesn’t mean I can’t have fun like a child, smile and laugh like a child, and be carefree whenever the opportunity presents itself.

With this last essay as the seventeen-year-old me, I bid you farewell.

Maggie Stuart

Maggie’s heart beat faster than the cycles her wheels made on the concrete as she sped through the parking lot of the shopping mall where her mom worked. She zigzagged through cars as an insane speed before she finally reached the front doors. She needed to get there before the bomb went off.
Her friends had told her not to piss off the drug lord, but she hadn’t seen another way to keep her boyfriend alive. Now she wished she hadn’t interfered.
The heads up about the bomb had come fifteen minutes ago from the lord himself. He called it his “final warning” – the “last scare” before he went for everything she has ever cared about until she begged for death, or took her own life, or ran.
Her car wheels screamed as she slammed on the brakes right in front of the mall doors. She’d get away in her mom’s car. They wouldn’t even go home, they’d just run. Grabbing her purse with the plane tickets, Maggie ran into the building.
Her sneakers squeaked on the waxed floor as she brought herself to an abrupt halt to check her watch, five minutes, there was no way she would get to security to warn them in time.
She whipped her head around, trying to find a solution to the problem.
An eternity wrapped up in a moment went by before she spotted it: the little red box. Rushing over she broke the protective covering with her elbow.
Maggie gasped from the pain. That probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do. Everything she did the past week was stupid come to think of it. But she had to do this. Taking one last gap she mumbled an apology and pulled the fire alarm at the shopping mall.

Disney Memories

I grew up watching Disney cartoons, and as a result if a Disney movie is playing somewhere, chances are I can recite the lines word-for-word until the very end of the movie. We were also big fans of the Disney Sing Along Songs videos. We still have them in a drawer somewhere. I still think the Disney songs are cool and I'm not ashamed of posting Disney clips on facebook and bursting into spontaneous recitations of Disney full length feature films.
I can't help but feel bad for younger generations, I keep an eye on what Disney comes out with, and a lot of their stuff isn't the caliber of fun that my generation got, do they even have sing Alongs anymore?

A Conversation Between Three Parents

Linda: How old are your children?
Jim: Thirty-five and thirty-three.
Martha: Nineteen, seventeen, and fifteen.
Linda: Ooh.
Martha: What?
Jim: Don’t worry, they’ll be gone soon.
M: Why should I worry?
J: Well, when my children were teenagers, my wife and I took every opportunity to be out of the house: golfing, fishing, hunting, women’s group for her and poker every Friday and Saturday night for me, and adult church supper every Sunday evening.
L: Yes, yes. I have a three year old and a five year old, so I know exactly what you mean by needing to get away.
J chuckling: I still remember all of those sleepless nights getting the baby to stop crying!
L: Tell me about it.
M: Well, that’s the deal with babies, they don’t understand how to wait; when they need something they need it now.
L: Yes, yes, but they’re so….needy.
J: That’s how they are, and it doesn’t ever stop. Even now my kids call me: “Benny broke his arm and I don’t think I can pay the bill.” Did you ever think of getting health insurance? He’s not my kid; it’s time you take responsibility.
M: Is Benny your…step-grandson?
J: No, he’s my grandson, why did you think-
L interrupting: Maybe they can’t afford insurance.
J: Oh they could if they thought ahead and saved.
There was a silence.
L: I can’t even fathom three teenagers.
M: It’s really not that bad-
J: Oh, you’re just more patient then the rest of us.
M: Perhaps.
L: I must say I’ve never seen three teens more well-behaved. How did you do that?
M: Love, care, coddling and being honest.
J scoffs.
L: Well, we all do that, but what’s your secret? What do you do to make them behave?
M: I don’t do anything. They learned basic manners when they were really young. Every once in awhile they need reminders, but we all do, don’t we?
M gives a laugh to break the tension.
J: How did you do that?
M: I was always right there reminding them. If I said “No” and they didn’t listen, there was always a consequence. I never let them get away with anything, so they grew up knowing that if they chose to cross a line they would get into trouble.
L: But that sounds so time-consuming.
J: And straining.
M: Sometimes that part of raising a child is hard, but I found most of it all a joy.
J grunts and walks off.
L as she walks away: Well, I have no idea how you can have all of that energy.
M to herself: You don’t care enough to make the effort. That’s too bad for you.

A Tale of a Writer

Oscar the boogieman awoke his version was bleary with sleep, he reached up with his fists, rubbed his eyes, making him look more like a grotesque child than a monster that struck fear into those children who were foolish enough not to use a nightlight as was rumored. Boogiemen just liked to do things at night rather than during the day like most folks.
The facts were that Boogiemen resembled a child in many ways. He loved to play games with the other boogiemen; hop scotch and guessing games were his favorite.
But Oscar’s favorite of favorite things to do was listening to stories of the other Boogiemen; even better than that though was telling his own stories. His dream was to become a published author. When the other Boogies heard this they told him that he was crazy. They said only human’s publish their stories, but Oscar didn’t care.
Oscar had been sneaking onto the computer that belonged to the father of the little boy whose bed Oscar slept under during the day. He found a magazine request on-line that wanted short fantasy stories, they were asking for something “new” and “fresh.” Oscar thought that a story about a friendly boogieman would be “new” he wasn’t too sure what they meant by “fresh” though. He decided to give it a try anyway.
He quickly started typing out his favorite boogie story; the one that the other Boogies agreed was the best.
It took Oscar more that forty minutes before he had the story just right. He sent the website an email with the story attached just the way the wanted they wanted it. Now all Oscar had to do was wait.
Unable to keep his secrete to himself, he ran out to tell his friends about it.
He found them all playing in the baseball park.
Once the other boogies heard what he had done, they did a very mean thing: They laughed at him. They said there was no way anybody would like such a story, that he had wasted his time.
Oscar left the baseball park, he felt very sad indeed. He went under his bed early and didn’t come out for the rest of the night.
When the sunset and the moon rose the next night, Oscar didn’t rush downstairs to check and see if the magazine liked his story. He couldn’t stop thinking about what his friends had said the night before.
Oscar trudged down the stairs with heavy feet. Sitting at the laptop, he opened his email and his heart gave a leap. He had a message, it was about his story.
With trembling fingers, Oscar scrolled down to read it.
It said they liked his story and they would like to see more. They were going to publish his story in their next magazine.
Oscar smiled to widely. He was going to be published. Oscar was an author.

Carlin on Campus 5 of 6

I'm sick, so I thought I'd post something funny about being sick. It's near the end of the video, but I hope you will enjoy the whole thing.

Going Away

You are going away
How I wish you could stay
But you had to go
Your boss told you so.

Dinner gets burned
My world had turned
Upside down and inside out
Without a doubt
Nothing is right
Without your kindness and might.

I can’t see the sweet within the sour
Without your power
T o keep the light
Within my sight.

Hurry home.

Rose Dog

I went out to pet my dog today (who loves the weather here. I guess if I had a fur coat on all the time I’d prefer the cold too.) At one point he jolted away to the opposite side of the yard, at first I thought he was just being goofy, then I looked at the bush he was standing in front of and I saw what he wanted to show me: a little rose that was just beginning to bloom. He and I share a special love for flowers; on walks he will pause to smell every flower along the way. This particular rose was too high for Merlin to reach and sniff. So I gently bent the rose down so that he could smell it too. It was a very special moment for girl and dog.

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.