A Snippet

This is a snippet of a story that I am writing (with my class) about a girl who dies in a car accident. This is part of my character's (Eve's) reaction to the tragedy!

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Carla flipped through the stack of Archie comics that lay before her. Rolling onto her back, she stared up at the stucco ceiling and started to count the bumps. 1,2,4,5,6,3... Being five was a hard job. There were older siblings to keep in line, baby brothers to shoo away from the garbage, and don't get started on kindergarten. It was nice to have a little break, away from the rest of the world, in Eve's bedroom. Carla had searched the house of Eve and couldn't find her anywhere. Waiting in Evie's bedroom and rummaging through her things was the only answer.

"Carla!!"

Carla jumped at the sound of her name. Finally, Evie had come home.

"Carla, you messed up my bed! Remake it right now."

"K..."

Eve watched as Carla gently swung her arms up and down, billowing the sheets. Every motion was like red liquid through the air. Carla softly giggled as her hair waved serenely in the breeze. Eve stared. Up. Down. Red against red. Everything tumbling over and over again.

"Carla, why do these things happen? I don't understand."

" I don't know. But I am making it better."

"Carla, I don't think you can make it better."

" Well I am trying as hard as I can. It will be even better after I am done!"

"So it will be better after it's messy?"

Carla tucked in the last corner of the bed and stepped back proudly.

"Look Evie, it's all better!"

Oh the possibilities....

The office was lit by a solitary window, cut squarely into six window panes. Light softly flooded onto the desk illuminating a recently shined nameplate. Carved neatly through the gold, etched the thirteen black letters that read a name; harsh and precise, ending with a period. Dr.Sarah Walker. James read the name again. Dr Sarah Walker, period. The chair behind the desk wore nothing but a scarf, draped neatly over the back, waiting for it's owner. A voice from behind. "You can sit on the chair or the couch."

A Free Verse Poem

This is what I would rather do instead of homework.


The clock slowly tick tick ticks as the hours pass unnoticed.
The light flows through the curtains.
It changes and casts long shadows on the floor.
They stretch. They are long. The clock tick tick ticks
My face warms in the golden red of the sunset as it filters through the curtains
The leaves, carried by the breeze, waft through the window and settle on the floor
It is covered with them.
The breeze is cool as it caresses my face. It floods across the floor and swirls in my hair.
I smile.
I sigh.
I sink deeper into the down cushion.
My eyes droop.
My back relaxes.
Tension is carried away as the leaves skip over my feet.
Fresh air fills my lungs and expels all
I sleep.
The clock ticks.

The Gift

Drops of blood ran down His face

While on His knees he knelt

The temptation of fear engulfed Him

But He refused what He felt

He closed His eyes to it and remembered

His Father

The whip cracked down with deadly blows

Ripping up all His flesh

He was being butchered to pieces

Slash after slash

He wanted it to end

But He closed His eyes to it and remembered

His Children

The thorns, thick and strong like nails pressed deep into his skull

Puncturing his temples

Dirt was kicked into His open wounds

Sweat and blood dripped into his bloodshot eyes

His wounds oozed

His exhausted body begged for respite

But he closed his eyes to it and remembered

His Promise

The wooded cross landed squarely between His shoulder blades

Pain seared through his body

His temples throbbed, His veins itched

His sore and bloody feet stumbled and dragged over muddy ground

He was cursed at, laughed at and mocked

He wanted to drop to the ground, cheek against the dirt, and rest

I spit upon Him, pointed my finger, laughed in His face

But he took up His cross

So that we may follow

His arms stretched out as they placed the nail on the surface of His skin

The hammer struck with deadly blows

His feet

His hands

Down the rough wood of the cross

Blood flowed like rivers in the many grooves

His mother stood silently catching every drop

Her eyes closed in pain as her hands became to small for the flow

Quiet acceptance of Gods will

He closes His eyes to the pain and opens the gates of heaven

Slowly the priest lowers the Host and genuflects

Slowly our heads bow

Thank You

Bulgy Eyes and Shopping

I have been told many many times I have large bulgy eyes. I see pictures of myself and realize... yes... my eyes are large....

Anyways! Beth and I went shopping with Baby John. It was extremely stressful... you have no idea how strange it is when people stare at you and say things like "Your baby is so cute...!" (In their mind: OMG Shes way to young to be having children... What is this world coming to!)

Well here I am with my little baby boy...

And here is Beth... refusing to look nice... Just Kidding: She looks nice!

It was a long day... we needed starbucks.. and boy, Johnboy was excited!!

If I were a boy...

But I am a girl...

YAWN!!!!! How dark it is, I think its bedtime for the little one!

The Care of a Teacher

I quit piano. Not recently, but many months ago, 7 to be exact. The playing, fun; the practicing, hard, but I loved it. I have always had a certain passion (lets say psychotic obsession) for music, therefore, when I quite, it was for a greater purpose, a more vocal purpose. I kept with the same teacher, Angela, and continued the exploration of music.

I met piano at age of twelve. We had a good time, and though I often neglected him, he never failed to cheer me up. I often ignored our relationship, and got into the trap of comfortable uselessness, that is, relying solely on talent. I now realize ( a whole entire seven months later) that I should of absorbed myself in piano, and payed more attention to Angela's advice. Oh poor Angela! She is so patient and loving!! But wait, I am getting ahead of myself.

A typical lesson: Stretching, Breathing, Buzzing, Sirens, Breathing, Scales, Songs( She often surprises me and throws in some new and unexplored vocal exercise). I absolutely, hands down, look forward to my lesson every single Friday. ( I used to miss piano lessons all the time... I HATE missing singing) The thing I appreciate the most is the care and time Angela takes to explain different things to me. She will give me a visual, or just a simple explanation, of what is happening inside me, so I can clearly see what she wants me to do. I feel at ease, I don't (well I do... but I really don't) care if I go off, and if I can't achieve something, or completely understand what I am supposed to do, she'll confidently tell me we will figure it out. It's like a project, a massive puzzle, that she is helping me put together. I revel in it!

I went into a music festival. Tomorrow I sing "Pie Jesu" and I am quite nervous, but at the same time, extremely excited. I have already done one performance, and though I didn't place, I knew I did the best I could. Seven months of singing! Angela told me that my voice has come so far,but what she doesn't realize is that she has brought me this far. I already have all the things I need, I just need to learn how to access and and develop them. Angela has the tough part: explaining, guiding, helping, showing, and everything that a singing teacher does. I cannot imagine the thought process that goes along with being a singing teacher... everyone is different. Most of all, she is patient. I really appreciate it.

Long winded, but theres a point to this anecdote. If ever I become a teacher, I will strive to become a patient, caring, knowledgeable,,,, ( you get the picture) one. Just like Angela.

( I could post a picture of her, but it would probably embarrass her if ever she saw this...hehe)

This Made My Day!

Hello All, this video :http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HpUn9tzwj2E&feature=grec made my day!! I was tired, but it is still HIGH LARIOUS!