23 December 2008

Goodbye. . .

As I walked through the door of that fourth grade classroom,
I knew it was the end. Mommy had told me the night before,
it was my very last night with you. I was moving on to bigger things,
I was older now. It was time to say goodbye to Mommy checking over
all my homework, to the books being read to me. Time to say goodbye to
the miniature monkey bars, the undersized slide, the Barbie Band-Aids for my scabs
that appeared quite often on my knees. It was time to say goodbye to all of those “little kid” things, because I’m a big kid know. I’m in the “upper grades.” Time to say
goodbye to all the joys of being a cute diminutive girl with bright eyes
and buoyant pigtails.

But the most devastating of all, it was time to say goodbye to my
most beloved friend. Such marvelous times we had together, the coziness
and warmth of your cashmere and cotton. The joy of putting in one
foot at a time the RIGHT way. The ultimate thrill of tattooing my
tummy with a ball point pen, and the ease of zipping you right up
speedy-quick to cover the work of art before Mommy sees.

So now I am forced to move on to the dreaded pants and shirt.
The frigid air that flows awkwardly up and down my legs, between my toes,
from the tips of my toes to the middle of my pelvis will be excruciating.
Without a zipper to rapidly move up and down, I will not have anything
to do while I’m lying in bed waiting for sleep to come surround me.

I know I’m older now, and I must to move on, but you are just so immensely
difficult to say goodbye to. The two syllables of that word are two
that I can hardly bear to allow come out of my mouth.
But goodbye my treasured footy pajamas, goodbye.

22 December 2008

Writing Block

           So here I am, sitting at my computer, at 5:30 in the morning. There is something wondrous and important to be written. Something everyone needs to read. Something enjoyable, magical, with fantastic imagery and marvelous descriptive words.  Words that would brighten every one's day, help those in need, lighten up the sad, inspire someone to go out and serve. But instead, here I am, frozen solid at my desk, because I do not consist of the simplest of an idea of what those words are. This is what I call a writing block. 
         Writing blocks are so incredibly annoying. They are like a cage, just holding you back from the beautiful sunshine you want to bask in, the luscious,  fragrant flowers of endless vibrant colors. The magnificent oak trees, standing tall, proud, and firm to show off there beautiful green leaves of summer, which are begging to give you their sweet, fresh oxygen. The sparkling blue river ready to give you his refreshing cool water. The lattice on this cage is intertwined on all sides, making it seem utterly impossible to escape. But, as you spend more and more time in this torturous cage, the key to the lock begins to come into view, until it is right in the palm of your hand. There is hope, I'm just still trapped inside that horrible cage, waiting desperately for that key.  

18 December 2008

Tranquility at Work

For five entire days I completely left my normal life and went to Girl’s Camp. A risk of entering into a tent with ten other hyper, fanatical and unusual girls who never sleep the entire time, all jacked up on Laffy Taffies and Starbursts. It was a complete fiasco. Then came Wednesday morning, when the Beehives were ready to set out on our three mile hike, up the steep hill filled with stinging metal and other dangerous plants Mother Nature has graciously given us. My small knapsack is packed with a squashed peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a water bottle, and my disposable camera all crammed in there at once.
So off we were, with our filthy shoes tied tight, our bodies smothered with sunscreen, and we were already sweating it off rapidly. My best friend since kindergarten Kaitie and I began to sing our giddy little camp songs, laughing hilariously until we had no air left in our lungs. I took off my baseball hat and wiped the sweat off of my forehead with the back of my hand for the fifty-seventh time, and replaced the cap. The sweltering, blistering sun was roasting everyone, forcing us to hold the water bottle upside down for minutes on end just to get one more glorious drop of liquid onto our heavily parched tongues. The sweet savor of water was being begged for by my throat as I had to continue on with the hike that seemed utterly endless.
The smallest amount of time isn’t the millisecond or even the nano second. It was the change each and every one of the twelve-year-old girls had in their heart from hard, cold and “I hate this stupid hike and I’m going to die right here on this trail,” to warm, melted hearts expressing, “This is the place. God loves us and gave us this beautiful sight to express his love.” The incredible scene in front of us started as amazingly breathtaking, and it only got better as your eyes stretched as far as your vision would allow.
The stunning evergreen trees danced whimsically with the singing wind. The clear, vibrant blue sky smiled down at us without a single cloud holding it back. The eternal, majestic mountains stood proudly, showing off their exceeding splendor. Every single element of nature there was delighted to be living and had a purpose in their life. They were there to deeply inspire us to dream with all of our heart.
Every single one of us had completely forgotten about the boiling sun beating upon our backs, the hitch hikers poking around annoyingly in our worn out shoes. We all just listened to the wind whistle through the leaves, tasted the inviting, pure air. How odd it was, to leave our lives of chaos, norm, and home to come here to see this, humbling, tranquil, peaceful place. The experience was absolutely unforgettable; each and every one of us wishes we could go back to the top of that hill just once more. To be reminded once more to dream with all of our hearts; that no matter how much bad there is in this world, there is always good.

12 December 2008

Genetic Anticipation

Every year my father and I do at least a dozen magic shows at the Alta Ski Club. After a long day of skiing, they have a little get-together for the adults and a party for the kids. We are hired to come entertain the kids. A.k.a., the super-ultra babysitting job.
Last year, mid-December, we were ready to go up the big, steep canyon. The huge turns and upward driving was endless. This night, this particular, strange night, was snowing so hard, blizzard is an absolute understatement. But, the show must go on, so we set out on our journey. The storm only got worse. By the time we started up the incredible canyon, you couldn’t see two inches in front of you. We only had two hours until show time.
Two hours of wondering if you are going to live through this. Two hours of the high anxiety my dad has and genetically passed on to me. So here we are, driving up the canyon like a married couple. There’s no barrier to save you from the hundred-foot drop if you fall of the edge. The ice was getting thicker. You couldn’t see any cars coming; you couldn’t see the road, nothing. It was pitch black, clouds covering the moon and stars.
I glance at the clock. 6:22 p.m. One hour thirty-eight minutes. Could we make it? Suddenly, Dad harshly swerves and my heart skips a beat. I hear everything crash into each other in the back seat. Who knows if the animals are still alive? Who knows if we’ll ever get there? Who knows if risking our lives is worth entertaining 47 kids? I swear I have whiplash from the sudden jolt.
“Dad! You’re going to kill us!”
“Sorry, what I supposed to do, stop the storm?”
“Yes.” I express sarcastically through my teeth, with are gritted together like cemented concrete. We both sigh and go back to looking at the road. Well, what road we can see. We never blink, we never breathe. I take a nano second long glance at the clock. 6:52 p.m. There’s no way. And now, here it comes. The great big “S” turn. We’re going to die; no way we going to survive this.
My dad has knuckles white as a sheet on the wheel. Here it comes. 3, 2, 1. . . Eeeerrrrttt! Loop one. EeeeeEEErrRRRtttT! Loop two. Phew. 7:02 p.m.
Closer and closer we emerged in the storm thinking about what a wonderful life we’ve had. I’ve had a great childhood; everything in my life’s gone pretty smoothly. I guess my sister and my best friend could split my clothes 50/50, and my allowance can go into my parent’s bank account. I had an essay due on Monday, also some math homework that wasn’t finished. I guess that wasn’t going to happen. My grades have been good, I have no regrets. I think I’ll leave a pretty good impression on people, never been extremely rude or offensive to anyone in particular.
Was there anything I hadn’t accomplished? Well, I’ve never parachuted, fallen in love, eaten a snail, seen Dumbo, been on the Colossus; my list continued endlessly when we came to a stop.
My head jerked up so fast for a moment I thought we had crashed and I got whiplash again. But to my amazement, there it was; the Alta Ski Club. It was 7:47 p.m. We had made it; by some miraculous event, we had lived through the entire drive up, and here we were, about to go on stage in approximately 13 minutes to make kids laugh and amazed.
Now we were supposed to let all that stress go and go put on a show. The peace within me was overwhelming. It was like being inside a house that was on fire, and fireman has just extinguished the entire thing. The wonderfully cold water fills up your body as you feel a trillion times better. So, there it is. The statement “The show must go on,” is very fierce burning belief in my father's heart. This is the precise reason that I was the next three years to last at long as it possibly can. I am not one bit excited to drive a car. I think I’ll just stick with my bicycle.