Coming out of the Cave

Basically I have been faithless in blogging, which is fairly intentional. Why blog when you're sick of computers? But lately my eyes have been opened to a new reality of what blogging can be, it could be, like, a fun relaxing activity that invites unicorns and shrubberies into your life. With this new realization I a coming back, back into the world of writing and sharing my little teenage woes.

Woe #1: Senior year burn out

No one cared to warn me just how tiresome you feel by the time you are a senior! For starters any pride you might have had starting high school has been strategically beaten away (If I didn't know any better I would have thought that some scenarios were meant for boot camp.) so by the time you do make to senior year you find yourself looking at your pajamas thinking, "Wow, I need to spruce up my wardrobe! I've gotta be lookin' good for picture day!" And then before you know it you're trying to find ways to excuse bedhead and you find yourself looking at your nails thinking, "Man did I forget to clip my nails last year?!" And then you wonder what happened to that person a few years ago that remembered to shave her arm pits and always showered every other day.

Woe #2: Is there such a thing as enough sleep?

Early morning seminary. Me. I don't do mornings! I wake up at 6:10 every morning--giving me 20 minutes to get the goop from my eyes and brush my teeth (thanks to woe #1 "I don't even floss!" -Groundhogs day). I am even having a hard time to fit in nap time! I swear I constantly find myself waking up and wondering why I'm still tired!

Woe #3: Winter is coming!

With early morning seminary that means that I have to scrape the snow off the car in the mornings....UGH!

Woe #4 My fuzzy socks are dying

My fuzzy socks are getting holes. One by one they are being trashed. Every time I have to trash one I feel a sinking feeling in my stomach. How do you just throw away a faithful friend that has loved you, caressed your feet and imparted warm fuzziness in your times of need?

Enough with the woes. The good news is, I WAS JUST ACCEPTED TO MASSAGE SCHOOL! I have this dream that one day I'll walk into work and be told that I'm going to be giving Colin Firth a massage :) That'd work for me! The thing with massage school is that is expensive, so I'll be accepting donations for the next five years as I try to pay it off (seriously though, if you feel generous post on this and let me know your bank account number.).

Although Cedar has a total lack of boys that are both cute and have a brain, I have found a solution! Say hello to Croatian cellists Stjapan Hauser and Luka Sulic! These guys have it all: accent, talent, brown eyes, creativity and something tells me that Stjapan (um how hot is that name!?) has a thing for Ben and Jerries! I'm beginning to think that this was a match made in heaven!



(Tell me if Mr. Cellos can't make a girl feel better about the stupid boys in her town?)

I am so not into U2-like, lamo '80's music but these guys are so good! Take a look at what they've done to With or Without You by U2! It makes me miss my cello days, one day I will dust off my cello and play again. There is no experience like playing the cello. You can feel vibrations all through your body!

One last piece of news, I am singing two solos! Scary! Anyone who wants to come hear me humiliate myself can come to the recital, just post and I'll let you in on the time and place.

Reports, Questions and a Story

Look at me, blogging away! I am proud to announce that I, Stephanie, have been waking up a full hour earlier so I can spend extra time writing! It has been the best thing ever -- that is if I do wake up when the alarm clock calls me to awareness.

Another item of my life must be added: Groundhog's day was a smashing success for us. We had a party, and believe me when I say it was a party. Definitely a great way to spend one of my last groundhog day's at home.

I am currently working on my bucket list, if anyone has any ideas on what should be on it then comment and let me know! Right now I'm stuck with stupid ideas like going on a last minute trip without telling anyone.

Here's a story for you all to enjoy. This is one that I wrote early this fall. I had a ton of fun writing it, although it isn't as free spirited as the last story it is still a story that is dear to my heart.

When the Door Closes

The sun began to rise over the tops of the trees. The golden light of the morning was the perfect compliment to the light orange of the leaves. The lacy delicate white frost covered the ground in simple patterns. Smoke rose from the chimney and snaked across the morning beauty.

Her hair was coiled into a tight bun on the top of her head, its golden thickness made it look like the sun rising over her head. She was dressed in a simple light pink dress with a cream colored apron. Her face slightly pale and her fingers white from the cold. Her head bobbed as she slept in the in the rocking chair with a little child wrapped in her arms. The light had just begun to stream through the window.

Everything seemed to be at peace that morning in the little cabin. There wasn’t a single thing out of place in the kitchen or living room. The fire had gone out, and a men’s work coat hung from the post of the stair railing. The sunlight stretched on the floor until it meet with the hand crocheted rug. Like everything else in the house the rug was clean and modest in color and wear.

Heavy foot steps on the stairs startled the sleeping women to awareness. Her neck was stiff from the uncomfortable sleeping position. As she rubbed her neck, to rid of it of stiffness, she looked down at the child sleeping in her arms. A tall man appeared at the bottom of the stairs. A second passed where their eyes locked and then grabbing his coat he walked out the front door.

Repositioning the child so it lay against her shoulder she stood up and walked carefully to the window and looked out on the early winter surroundings. She began to sway and hum to the little girl as she assessed the damage of the night. The light was shining against the frost. The wind had done its damage; leaves littered the yard and looked like little piles of fire on the dead grass. The serene beauty was a balm to her soul.

The draft from being so close to the window was chilling the baby’s legs. She laid the child on the floor and went to start the fire. Once the fire was started she turned to attend to the needs of her sick darling. The child was still. Kneeling down beside the sick baby she felt checked its temperature. She was burning up!

In her stockings she ran out to the garden. “Hun, Alana isn’t better at all! She’s turned for the worst. I’m afraid for her. She has a raging fever.” Her husband stood up and looked at the ground as he poked the black frostbitten pumpkin leaves. She looked down as well. Her cheeks were flushed and her fingers chilled and pale. She could feel the frost melt under her stocking feet.

“Answer me!” her voice cracked with frustration, the silence had gone too far. She pushed his chin up with two ice cold fingers causing his eyes to finally be seen by her own. “Our child, your only child is sick from exposure and you remain silent! She needs our help.” “Can’t, gotta get’em pum’kins. Frost near kill’em all last night.”

“Don’t talk like that! I know you know how to talk properly!” She was yelling with indigence. “Fine! I will! I’ve been working like a dog out here trying to beat the weather and look at what’s happened, a thief has come in the night and came this close to stealing every last pumpkin here!” “As thief in the night, a thief….” She muttered with her head bent in a contemplative reverence.

She turned her back on the dead garden and walked back to the house. As she turned around at the door she saw him, looking, his hands were hanging by his side with the palms out. His shoulders had slumped a bit. She shut the door quietly.

Stephanie Pointer

I Wanna Be a Man, a Real Man

Today I got board and wrote this story! Have fun! Remember, Groundhogs day is just around the corner!

I Wanna Be a Man, a Real Man

Have you ever seen ‘em sunflowers that are so yella they looked white? Well I have. They have big black centers that kind of look like a black hole that sucked all the yella out of the petals. Other than that devil black center and creamy petals they looked like normal sunflowers. Their about yay high and their stems are the typical forest green covered in them dang poky hairs that irritate my skin. I hate them things! Well the day that Bob Willis became a man is a day I’ll never forget; I’ll forget how to pull up my pants before I forget that day.

It was the summer of ’27 and we were just released from that pen house some folks like to call a school. They said we was suppose to learn somethin’ from that institution of higher education, but the only thing I remember is the principle of the willow switch. The way the principle of the willow switch works is like this, the thinner the willow switch got the longer I’d remember them.

Well we’d just been released from the pen on the understanding that this here was a probationary period. Well I’ll tell you what, that’s all the telling ol' Bob and I needed. We turned and ran faster than a spooked calf. We weren’t gonna talk any chances, knowing the school mister we understood that he’d reconsider if we gave him half a chance to.

Bob Willis and I weren’t loved by our parents because of our bright ideas. Now that I think of it, I don’t think we were loved by our parents, that’s another story for another day. As I was sayin’, we weren’t known for the best ideas just for the abundance of them; between the two of us and my dog, Archibald, we shared a brain. That’s a lot of ways to split a brain.

Bob and I weren’t friends because we were found of each other, simply ‘cause there was only one other boy in our grade, Fritzwilliam. A name says a lot about a person, for Fritz it meant his parents didn’t care too much for him neither; he also had a habit of spitin’ when he talked.

I remember that was one of the hottest summers in history. We didn’t have to worry ‘bout them rats, they just cooked inside the walls. Preacher Gillard said that the only reason why the heat hadn't killed Bob, Archibald and I was ‘cause the devil hadn’t yet finished his purpose by us, Grandma naturally agreed. After meetin’ my grandma Bob was glad his grandma was dead.

We was sittin’ out by our old fishin’ spot waiting for a bite when Bob turned to me and said, “If Preacher Gillard is right about the devil keepin’ us alive ‘cause he ain’t finished his purpose by us then your grandma ain’t never gonna die!” I don’t think Bob was what some folks would consider intelligent but right then he sounded down right philosophical. Then I got scared, real scared; what if she ain’t never die?! I knew her time was long past expired, but maybe it wasn’t natural. Maybe it was the devils doin’.

That was the day Bob became a man. After soundin’ so smart we figured he was sufferin’ from some sorta heat stroke. The sun was hot and most of the frogs stopped moving, Bob though that they done there and boiled in the emerald waters of the fishin’ hole. We stripped down until only the suits nature gave us was visible. Archibald lay in the shade of a near by tree sleeping.

Now that’s the way life should be; natural. We splashed and swam havin’ a famous time, that is until I saw a shadow in the water. I thought it might be a snapping turtle, “nah, it can’t be a snappin’ turtle, not in our hole!” We continued to swim when Bob’s eyes got real wide, and then he sang a note so high I ain’t never heard nobody go so high since. Bob was never keen about choir but right then I knew Oak Branch choir was missin’ the strongest soprano on this side of the Mississippi. Well Bob moved fast. He didn’t wait a second. He started hopping around, just searching for a way out of the water. I just stood there all moon-eyed and scared.

“Bob, Bob! What’s gotcha? Is it a turtle?! Did it get ya? Huh, huh?”

Bob was too busy looking for a solution to answer me, he found an easy bank and hopped out still screaming. His back was to me but I could see the perpetrator. Just as I thought, it was a nasty, ol’, ugly, snappin’ turtle hangin’ low off of the rear end of Bob Willis.

Well I sprang into action. I started gathering as many rocks as I could find. When there was enough to build a tower as high as the Sears Tower I started throwin’ ‘em just hopin’ that I’d hit the turtles back and spook him off Bob’s rear. Well with Bob jumpin’ and twirrlin’ like a ballerina my aim was compromised. It was really hard to take aim. I’d say that I missed a few times; Bob says that I have the worst aim in Oak Branch county and that day proved it.

Well he started dancing around my pitches moving back and forth. I took aim and threw. I hit him strait in the throat which stopped the bellerin ’, I was mighty grateful for that. I took aim again and threw. This time he pranced out of the rocks line of action and stepped on the sleeping Archibald.

How Archibald remained asleep all that time was beyond our reasoning. Archibald reacted accordingly; he let lose with a yell. The baritone moan must have done the trick for the turtle. It spooked him, he released his jaws and slunk back to the water. I was out of the water faster than Bob could talk.

“Bob,” I said, “how ya feelin’?”

“Hades couldn’t have made that hurt more.” Was all the reply I got.

We dressed and started walking home in silence.

“Ya know, Charlie Bewered said that the day he became a real man was when his friend, Joe accidently shot him in the rear.” I tried to make my voice sound consoling.

“Hm,”

I could see he was thinking it over. He scratched his head and looked like he was in real pain.

“Now that you mention it, I do feel like a real man. I think it has to do with the ‘mount of pain suffered that determines if you’re a man or not.”

I had a growing desire to go back and see if I could get bit myself! The sun set over the field of white sunflowers. Why does all the great things happen to Bob? I wondered as he limped slightly a head of me and Archibald.

Steph

Brownie Rocks

After a fun filled weekend I find myself here at the computer recalling one of the best moments of my weekend. My dear friend Alex came to spend a few days with me. Things were going well but the constant call for brownies from my mentors couldn't be ignored any longer.

We made the brownie batter but with some dismay we found that we had extra which we needed to deal with. I pulled out a muffin tin and decided that we would have mini brownie muffins! The person that used the oven before me had it on broil and forgot to change it back to bake when they were done. Five minutes into the cooking I caught the mistake before it was too bad but it still effected the brownies.

Twenty-five minutes later Alex and I pulled out the brownies and muffins for cooling. Note: first mistake I let the muffins stay in as long as a 9x13 pan. Don't do that. A few hours later we came down stairs from dying our hair to find that the muffins weren't muffins at all! In fact that resembled rocks, moon rocks! The good news was that the regular brownies, although altered, were still presentable. We frosted them and then returned to the original problem of what to do with chocolaty pellets. Almost like revelation the thought came to mind, lets stone the mentors with the muffins and then in an act of peace we can give them the one's that turned out properly!

In the beautiful, dented, old Chevy Suburban we pulled up in front of their house. I arm wrestled the car into park and turned to Alex, "Ya ready for this?" We each grabbed five stones and held them behind our backs, walked up to the door and asked for our mentors. They came to the door and we started throwing the stones. They of course retaliated and gathered the stones to throw back. Almost immediately six kids were running around trying to gather the muffins and eat them. Although they thought we were retreating we ran back to the car and got the plates of "proper" brownies and offered them in an act of pure, raw, unadulterated friendship.

It was a moment in my life that I would label as culinary fun. But there is one part about the entire situation that makes me a little uncomfortable. The kids tried to eat the muffins...I don't think that could possibly be a wise health move! I hope no one gets sick!

I'm Back and Repentant!

We'll I'm back after a short and beautiful Christmas break, and I have a short story for you!!! Count yourself honored. But before the story I must quickly add that it's coming close to that beautiful time of year, GROUNDHOGS DAY!!! Remember this? Well back to the story. Here you guy's go!

Red Against White

The day long planned for and anticipated had arrived. Order throbbed though the morning’s apparel. The brunch tables had been set with professional care. Each plate was given a flower; a white foxglove for the groom’s guests and a snowdrop for the bride’s guest.

The gardens were immaculate and the atmosphere clear. Women with large hats weaved in and out of the wedding company, while the men meandered to food tables and through conversations. Each person was dressed in their best white and wearing the flower they had been given during brunch. The bride and groom were getting ready, each in a different room.

The groom was a tall dashing fellow with the world hanging by a string. He stood in front of the mirror admiring himself. He had little thought for what was to happen or for anyone else in the party. He smiled to himself in the mirror and began to plan his Friday night entertainments.

The bride solemnly put on her silk white wedding gown. Her mind was a gentle stir of questions and regrets. Although she knew how this day had arrived, she began to wonder how she had got to this place in her life.

“What did I do wrong?”

Reflection made her large, brown, gentile doe like eyes heavy. She reviewed every meeting she had had with her fiancée; each important, none vital to anything.

Her dressing room was filled with giggling maids and her mother. Everyone had a say in the arrangement of her hair and how to drape the dress; she stood transfixed in front of the mirror as they made their pleasures. Candle lit night after night streamed though her mind until it lightly rested on one special night.

Out of obligation she had accepted another appointment, hoping she would finally have the courage to say no to the next. She wore her sliver baby doll dress with the diamond earrings he had given her. Grudgingly she went down the stairs to await his call. Impatiently he knocked, prompt as usual. Weighted footsteps made it hard to move to his command; nevertheless, she followed him to the taxi.

He talked, saying nothing and yet everything. Her mind was not at all present, but that didn’t matter since he never required an answer. Rain began to fall, nature’s tears bathing the city lights. The rain was making the world out side a blur of color. The taxi pulled to the side of the road and he stepped out and opened the umbrella then ducking back into the cab he grabbed her hand and led her outside under the protection of the umbrella.

Hand in hand they strolled though the lamp lit park in the rain. He continued to talk and she continued to not hear. Finally he made a strange movement. He got to one knee and pulled out a box, which he opened exposing a Tiffany’s diamond ring. Her mind pleaded and her knees went weak. She bit her lip and said; quietly

“No”.

His faced looked like she had just dumped cold water over his head. He stood up with anger etched in his brow. Clasping his mighty hand over her petite shoulder he began to shout, with his arms shaking her in rhythm to the trembling of his voice. Louder and louder, the blearing noise of his voice entered her ears like knives to her peace. His grip tightened on her arms until the blood flow had stopped. Hot pins stabbed her hands and arms as the feeling in them drained out. At last they were numb. He let go and took a step back but, she only looked down at the pavement. Aggravated at the absence of acknowledgment he struck her; but she didn’t even cry out.

As her cheek began to swell he raced her to the street and called for another taxi. On the ride home his apologies were profuse and nauseating. For everything he apologized for he forgot one; to apologize for forcing her to say ‘yes’.

She looked up at the mirror. Quite the vision of white beauty, but even vanity couldn’t comfort her. Her mother came sweeping around the furniture, rearranging things as she went, until finally she made it to the side of her daughter. They stood there, the two of them looking at the other in the mirror. Two dresses cut from the same cloth.

Dana turned to her daughter and placed a white lily in her hair. The final touch. Daliah looked straight at herself. She was the vision of grace. The clock tolled twelve as she reached for her bouquet; the red carnations choked the purity of the snow white flowers from her vision.

Steph