Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Random stories

I had just about finished writing this post when my computer spazed and I lost all of it. Anyway, I've always wanted to be a writer, so I have tons of half written stories lying around my house. I found this particular one in a notebook today and I thought I might share it with you. I wrote it earlier this school year.

"With what money?' She screamed back, her throat chocked with tears. " we have nothing!" I hit my wash rag against my apron and looked at my daughter. I did not understand her pain, for I had not gone through it, but I knew that screaming would fix nothing. She quieted, for she knew my actions better than a goose girl knows her flock. My movement was one of instinct, which always foreshadowed my thoughts. I slapped my apron, wiped my brow and turned my back to grab the broom. This would mean the end of our discussion.

---

I never quite understood what was wrong with me, sure I had some acne through my growing years but I wasn't considered ugly, I was quiet but not awkward. I guess I was just too average. Not the ugliest, not the prettiest. Nor was I the tallest or shortest. I was always in the middle. I was the sixth of thirteen children, the fourth of eight girls. My family did everything to make me feel special, but they couldn't change the facts. Some how I was swept up in a jungle of invisibility. Besides my sisters, I had no real friends. No boy had ever "come a courting" for me, and I guess that is really the reason I got into this whole mess. I just wanted to be wanted, and I guess, now I am.

"Wanted" is a funny word, for you see, it has two distinct meanings. The first is a good things, this form of wanted refers to being accepted and loved. The other term however is often used to describe criminals, those running from the law, those the government are trying to find. I probably should have realized this, but with no education or real purpose in knowing definitions, I found it unnecessary.

It was early fall. The wind was harder, the air crisper and the pumpkins bigger. Much harvesting had already been done, but the fear of winter was not yet in full swing. This was before we were poor, before the horrible winter in which I met Brice.

I sat in the apple tree. The weather was perfect, the wind blew around my skirt and beckoned me to loosen my bun. I had washed my hair the night before and my slightly damp locks were gracious for this pleasureful opportunity. I could hear my baby brother crying from inside the house. He was getting his first tooth and no one could seem to stop his tantrums. I saw my father through the trees' limbs.

I always felt bad for Papa, he worked so hard. He never allowed us girls to do "a man's job." While I appreciated his act of gentlemeness, (which I'm almost positive, isn't a real word) I knew he needed more help. Us girls out numbered the boys and although we did clean, cook and picked in the orchards, we could not assist our father in what he needed. He had always wanted a house of boys. Yes, he has five, but Norin isn't even walking and Nathan has a mental disorder. Of course, that did not stop him, he is probably the most accomplished of my father's children.


So there you go, a piece of a story I will never finish.
Google images



Monday, April 15, 2013

The Lost State

Most people, whether the want to admit it or not, will go through a period of their life that is challenging and weird. This often happens through the teenage years. These of course vary in extremeness for everyone. Maybe I'm not making sense, let me start again. Have you ever talked to a junior high boy? In general, they are moody, "smart alicy" and like to make inappropriate comments. I went through a stage of this too, but I phased out. However, lots of people never do, they live in this lost state for quite a while. It's weird to see my friends who are in it. They act funny around me, they respect me, so that's nice, but they always say sorry when they swear or say something bad (half the time I don't know what it means so it doesn't matter). I really appreciate that they notice me, but it's just kinda interesting to me. I'm not one to judge anybody, like ever, but I am a people watcher (slightly contradictory). I just want to tell those people that I get it, I was there, not to such an extreme, honestly I'm such a goody-good and I have plenty of stories that I'm sure will come up. But I just want them to get through it, to jump over it and become the person they can become. I have a couple of siblings, like 11, and I have seen how it has helped people. We are given are challenges so we can keep others from having them.
So, there you go, my thought of the day, I didn't explain it very well but I hope you kinda understood.

Saturday, April 13, 2013

Her and She

I consider myself a happy person, but when I create it's usually sad. I choreograph to gloomy songs, sing about break ups and write pretty depressing poetry. I t scares me really, like why do I do that? Of course this isn't always the case, but still. So I decided to try and write a happy poem. It kinda worked...

She ran
Away from the place that had held them captive for so long
Her ran beside she
They did not care that they stood out
They were free

She was the responsible one
She always had been
And she protected her on the way
Her did not yet understand the danger
But that didn't matter, for today-
They were free

They knew the path 
They knew the street
But today was not the same
Something had changed
Something was different
And Freedom was its name

I know people will take this poem to mean different things, I intended it that way. You could feel it was girls, escaping a Nazi camp, princess on the run or two angels coming to heaven. While I did intend it to mean all of these the real inspiration was as simple as my little sister and I getting home from elementary school. You see, I'm just an ordinary Princess, who's poem's

I was walking home in a hail storm, so my sis took a picture.
Here is a picture of my sister and me.
still don't sound very happy...


Thursday, April 11, 2013

Where to Begin

It was really hard to try and think of what to put for my very first blog post. It sets a mood, it creates a story you must tell, a character you must create. This character happens to be me, and my story has not yet been written, but I wanted to start with this. I am not a singer or song writer (as you will soon be able to tell) I'm a dancer, but this is my additional verses to a popular song in my church. Yes, I am a mormon. (Oh, I've always wanted to say that!:) My song is cheesy, it's kinda long, but it has a slight grace to it, kinda like me.


If the Savior stood beside me
Would I wear the clothes I wear?
Would I tell those secrets that aren't mine to share?

Would I be the friend or neighbor
The Lord would have me be?
If I could see the Savior standing nigh
Watching over me?

If the Savior stood beside me
Would I date before sixteen?
Would I listen to his commandments
So I could someday be a queen?

Would I read what others are reading?
Could I turn off the T.V.?
If I could see the Savior standing nigh
Watching over me?

If the Savior stood beside me
Would I be careful of my thoughts?
Would I put others down just to be in the popular lot?

Would I be less judgmental
Of others and of me?
If I could see the Savior standing nigh
Watching over me?

 If the Savior stood beside me
How would I spend free time?
Would he be proud of my treatment to that
family of mine?

Would I try to do more service?
Would I dance more modestly?
If I could see the Savior standing nigh
Watching over me?

If the Savior stood beside me
What kind of person would I reflect?
Could he look into my eyes and see that humble respect?

Would he see his little sister?
Would he hug me passionately?
For I know the Savior's standing nigh
Watching over me.