dear april,

Prompt: write a letter to the 10-year old child you had been.

Dear April,

    You will be in 5th grade by now, almost a big girl, about to take on the harsh world of judgmental girls and hormone-raged boys. But you're safe for now, home schooled with only your brother. Right now your biggest questions in life are why your mom won't let you get your ears pierced and what you will get for Christmas. Your biggest decisions in life are what to do with the rest of your day when your best friend will get out of school and what notebook you want to write in that day. Cherish these moments of innocence and simple stresses. You want with all your heart to be an adult already, I know, just so you can eat a snack without asking Mom and so you can have a husband and play house all day long. I know you wish to grow up fast and have a woman's figure, to stop being a kid that is shushed and told, "I'll tell you when you're older." Adult life isn't the ideal you think it will be. Bills are more than just annoying. You won't be able to shop whenever you want. You will have to work and budget your time. Playing the piano for Dad won't get you out of doing the dishes. You will have responsibilities that entail more than just cleaning your room or Saturday morning chores. You will be forced to do boring stuff that whining won't fix. You will one day hit a wall of reality. Prepare yourself now.

    Slow down and enjoy the time with your brother when he helps you tie the kitchen table chairs together to make a bed to do your homework in. Yes, even when he picks on you and flicks your forehead. Enjoy learning the basics because it only gets more complicated from here. Be patient and enjoy that you only hear the positive things about people and the world. It was wonderful to not know the fullness of corruption in politics and what sin really looks like. When divorces and financial depressions do not affect you. Life really will zoom by like adults tell you. You will blink and then be 23, married with a college degree in English like you always dreamed you would. Enjoy your little girl's body before emotions take over your rational thoughts. Conquer that fear of failure now and so many more opportunities will open up for you that I was too afraid to take. As much as following God and being patient and saying no to what other people get to live through seems boring and dim in comparison to the splendors of popularity and style and boyfriends, it pays off in the end. Trust me.

Be excited though, your future is perfect. You will be happy, blessed, and successful. Your desires will change though and you will soon find what real happiness means. Oh man, and when you hear Mumford and  Sons for the first time, it will be a good 3 minutes.

Good luck and chin up.

Sincerely, the future you.

P.s. Hold on to your barbies, because they just won't make them as well in the future.

Bah Humbug

Prompt: Encouraged by a friend of mine to write about my bitter feelings for the holiday spirit (or lack there of), I want to put in words what my heart craves and why it is not getting what it needs from Christmas.

   Being called a "Scrooge" implies that you lack the Christmas spirit, the jovial, deep-bellied laughs of the ever generous Santa Claus. It means that you bring down the spirit of others around you and avoid the festivities of the season. I have been called a Scrooge and have often called myself one this year. It isn't the Christmas season that bothers me and causes me to crawl under my rock to wait it by. The problem is that I do not see the Christmas spirit anywhere to be jovial about. I see grumbling, entitled people pushing their way through line, fighting over meaningless objects in department stores, and demanding sales or freebies in the name of "Christmas spirit." The roads are packed with honking, impatient dirty cars, every store has a line with mothers tapping their toes glaring at you if you hold a conversation for too long with the cashier, and tacky figurines of the nativity in every yard next to blowups of Santa and images of materialism at every corner. I think we have forgotten what Christmas is really about.

    Christmas does not have to be only about the baby in a manger or pious thoughts all day long. I do choose to associate Christmas with the remembrance of Christ's birth, but I don't need a holiday to remind me about that every year. Christmas can also be for the secular as well, which does not only have to be about the large spending and millions of presents under a overly decorated tree. My religious definition of the Christmas spirit is a celebration in the midst of a cold dark winter with the hope of spring. It signifies the hope in the midst of a cold dark life with the coming of Christ. The secular Christmas spirit is the enjoyment of the beauty of winter surrounded by family, friends, or even strangers. All over, it is the generosity of those with to give to those without.

    Christmas should be about community. When the winter meant potential starvation and death by freezing, the community of the village would work together, giving to those in need, sharing their homes, etc. Huge feasts would be held in the town hall, stories would be shared and songs sung together to pass the winter boredom. All that has been lost with the individualism of America and we have to be persuaded, bribed, or scheduled to give to the community around us. Sharing does not come easily when the entire year we have been living for ourselves. I think Christmas is a reflection of that sharing within the community in the past with the gifts that we give to one another, gathered around a Christmas tree and a fireplace. Warmth and community.

     I have struggled with the urge to follow the flow of our culture to buy buy buy gifts and want want want useless clutters of objects. Giving is hard. Giving without expecting anything in return is harder. This is what my heart craves. Snowflakes on the tongue, hot chocolates, delicate lights and the smell of garland everywhere, holding mittened hands with a loved one, sharing stories with friends around a fireplace, and helping people along the road.

     My favorite example of Christmas giving is in the story of Little Women. Video Clip.

Merry Christmas!

Leaf

Prompt 9: Write a poem about an object that describes you.

The beginning: a bud, curled and tight inside a shell. 

Anchored to strength, the wisdom of a Mother, and arms of a Father.

 A touch of warmth on my shoulder bids me spread open my arms

Stretch towards the sun, breathe in deeply of the cool breezes of spring.

A flower, delicate to Frost, vulnerable. 

The Endurance: the fire above drys me, feeds me, hardens my skin to the harshness of weather: 

Wind, rain and darkness.

I'm darkened in the brightness, a deep green, a sign of life, one hidden among many

 Reaching, stretching, fighting for the sun. 

I grow and flourish in the cool breezes of summer, 

I wither in the heat.

The Adolescence: my tastes change. Red, orange, purple, the new green. 

Dancing is not enough, I long to be free, to fly with the wind

Discover new places, to make ripples in the glass.

I feel my ties to my mother slipping.

The time is coming.

The Rest: I've seen the tree tops, I've explored open garages, swept out again to explore more

I saw beautiful colors in the fields and forests, touched cold rivers.

I decorate the world, the paths, and people's windows wrapped in wax.

I found a new home where I feel the sun's warmth in the cold of winter. 

A reflection of my color on the wall. 

Smelling Mixed Feelings

Prompt 8: Describe what you feel right now using your sense of smell. If you are feeling frustrated, write about what your frustration feels like.

I must figure out how I feel first. Like I'm in a airtight box, made of hard plastic obviously. I'm trapped in this play-place of little kids' urine and static electricity. The air is suffocating, overwhelming, intoxicating. Crowds of people surround me, bounce sheet clean clothes, oily hair and body odor, cold ash cigarette smoke masked by cheap perfume. Where is the rain to wash out the air molecules? Where are the crisp breezes carrying the scent of wet pine and soil? Where is the salty spray of the ocean over my face? Even the smell of the rotting wood washed up on the shore is preferable to the traffic fumes and angry breath in my face. Solitude, the scent of a loved one's skin, my nose craves relief.

Can you guess the feeling?

When the Lights Go Out

Prompt 7: Electricity is a recent invention. Think of 12 things to do when there is no power.

1. The Romantic Obvious
2. Entertain your spouse/roommate with a shadow puppet show to candlelight.
3. Play a guitar around a campfire
4. Hide and Seek
5. Marco Polo (No need for blindfolds).
6. Go for a walk. You will be able to see stars that would usually be masked by the city lights.
7. Read a play. Each of the members in your family would read aloud a different character. Shakespeare preferably.
8. Paint on a canvas with no lights. When the power comes back on, see what you created!
9. Read a scary novel.
10. Take the opportunity to take creative portraits of your household. Everyone looks better in candlelight. ;)
11. Seance. (Just kidding. Could be scary).
12. Board games, duh.

Body of White, Home of the Pigeons

Prompt 6: Write a list of cliches and choose one to write a poem about.
I decided to write a poem about a cliche I saw the other day. Pigeons on a statue.

Pale stone wrapping around a smooth graceful body of white, Marbled arms frozen in time
A cloudy day moves overhead, a gentle cooing falls over the stone
One, two, three, ten, twelve
They dot the stairs, perch on pointing fingers, extended arms
As if calling, beckoning them home, convincing them to rest from their journey
Nineteen, Twenty
Forgotten by the crowds, remembered by the feathered

Once proud, beautiful, now humble

Until Then I Am a Red Balloon...

Prompt 5: Choose a poem you like. Take the last line of that poem and use it as the first line in your own poem.
Poem: Vignette from The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros.

Until then I am a red balloon, a balloon tied to an anchor
Bouncing upon the breeze, fighting to be free.
Until then I am a red balloon, bright against the sky
The color of happy, but I don't know why
Until then I am a red balloon, an easy target to be seen
A marker, a symbol, the place to be
Until then I am a red balloon, pretending to get away
But actually content and wishing I could stay
Because then, I will be a red balloon, homeless
With nowhere to go but up, until I reach the sun.

Cinderella Who?

Prompt 4: Rewrite the ending of Cinderella as if the glass slipper fit one of the stepsisters instead of Cinderella. Forget Happily Ever After. What really happened?

    Once upon a time, there was a sweet little family yada yada yada. The mother died and then the father remarried a witch with two daughters. When he died, they forced Cinderella to be their servant. Years later, they all made it to the ball of the year with heavy cosmetics and a fairy godmother.  At midnight, the slipper was left behind and the Prince starstruck. On his search throughout the kingdom, he came upon the Tremaine mansion. Cinderella was locked in the cellar and the sister lined up for the Prince to view. With Cinderella unable to try on the slipper, the Prince allowed the sisters to try it on. Anastasia's feet were too large. When the Prince tried the slipper on Drizella, it was a perfect fit. The Prince was shocked by the outcome, for Drizella was not the beauty he remembered from the ball. But he had to keep his promise. This was not going to be the happy ever after he was looking forward to.

   The wedding was six months later and lasted for 3 days of celebration. Cinderella spent the whole wedding locked in her cellar only hear about it from the mice and birds who had become her friends. Cinderella's fairy godmother tried to convince Cinderella to let her do something, like whiz her away before they say "I do" so Prince Charming will realize his mistake and marry his true love. But Cinderella wouldn't leave her room. It was too late she said. He had made his choice.

blah blah blah this prompt sucks.

dictionary.mee

Prompt 3: Dust off the dictionary on your shelf and randomly pick out 10 words. Don't look at the meanings but write them on a separate paper. Write creative meanings for each word. What do you think they should mean? What do they make you think of?
Since I don't own a dictionary except my good ol' dictionary.com online, I'm going to pull out the next best thing: The Norton Shakespeare. I'm sure there are plenty of interesting Shakespearean slang at random in there.

apish - (adj.) refers to the "ape-like" features of a human or object. Mr. Hyde had an apish quality, scrambling with a shuffled walk, his hairy arms swinging with the motion of his stride.

suborn - (n.) a person born beneath the required status of royalty. Aladdin was a suborn; he could never dream of marrying someone so high born as Jasmine. 


lackey - (v.) without. Me lackey food. Me hungry.


Welkin - (n.) a little person from the town of Welk. The Welkin could not reach the book that sat on the top of a five foot shelf. 


gramercy - (n.) poor grammar. Dr. Smith thought there was a correlation in children who were abused and their use of gramercy.


sonties - (n.) soggy panties. "Ring your sonties out young lady. No need to overreact about this."


hearsed - (v.) to hearse: to be killed, placed in a coffin, and shipped to the funeral home. "Boy, I'm gonna down right hearse you if you don't shut that trap!"


underprop - (n.) a prop that is used underneath an actor to give them height. Billy was small for his age and he had to use an underprop so he would appear taller than the supporting actress in the school play. 


cog - (n.) a mechanical gear. The would not keep time because it was missing a cog.


embar - (n.) a granola bar enriched with vitamins and other assorted ingredients of nutrients like spinach, kale, carrots, protein, etc. Embar: the new and tasty One-a-Day replacement. 

Wish It Was 1998

Prompt 2: Take out your photo album and pick picture #14. Look at it for 2-3 minutes and then write for 10 minutes everything that photo made me feel.

If you can't avoid being ridiculous, just embrace it. 

    I remember the day was perfect. A little bit hot and humid, but with a cool breeze from the small summer rain shower. My friend Taylor wanted to try out her new roller blades and with pride I told her I could teach her since I have roller bladed since I was little with my family. I was also hesitant. I always hesitate before committing to anything active. Ugh, I already showered today, do I really want to get all sweaty? It was a beautiful day today, true, but my socializing energy is zeroing out and I need some personal time with my book. Will it be fun? I don't feel like smiling. Or being active. I promised her I would, look excited about this.

I dug out my roller blades from the storage closet, checked and double checked for spiders, then found my knee socks. Ok, hardest step is just getting ready for the physical activity. "Taylor, ankle socks are going to be bad." "Nah, I'll be fine." I wish she would listen to me. I'm supposed to be the teacher.

I decide to take her around the houses near my apartment to stay away from the dirt path that led to the smooth lovely Bear Creek Path. I didn't want her to ruin her bearings with mud. "That looks like a big hill April." "No it will be fine. Well, maybe we should use this hill to go up because the other hill will be better going down. Or the least scary of the two."

We went up the hill, practically walking with our toes pointed outwards at a ridiculous angle. I already felt like an idiot. Gosh I wish it was the 90s again so we weren't the only people with roller blades on. Those kids are staring at us as if they have never seen such a stupid activity. "Hey kid, this was cool way back when." I want to read my book.

We made it to the top of the hill where I tried to teach her how to stop and turn. We approached the second hill to get back home. We picked up speed, my heart pumped with fear. I found some grass to stop in just a small ways down. When I looked back up, Taylor's face was white. "You're right, we should turn around Taylor." She gave me a weak smile.

On the way down the hill we climbed up, we were laughing hysterically trying to slow our speed by running into trash cans and mail boxes. Those kids were laughing at us now. "Stupid kids. We're cool." I feel like an idiot but it feels nice to have the wind in your hair and not a care in the world, except crashing. An old lady walking her dog gave us the same what-the-heck-are-you-doing look. "C'mon lady, this is from your generation." I feel like an idiot. Should have told Taylor to wait until another day when there were no more people in this town.

This picture is an amazing piece of my memory with Taylor. Though my pride continued to sap some of the fun from the activity, Taylor's bravery, her humor with the whole situation, her not caring what people thought, and me pretending like I didn't care was well worth the time away from my book.

The Couch

Prompt 1: Look at an item in your room for a few seconds. Then try to recall everything about it with your eyes closed. Then write a description about it.

My couch lives up to the stereotype of most couches. You walk in from a long day at work and it beckons you with its soft rounded pillows. It reminds you of the past memories of good books where the hero got the girl, and when your husband surprised you with scented candles and a romantic dinner in front of Firefly. You sigh and set your things down, put on your favorite sweats, grab a blanket and prepare to sit for the next few hours. You wiggle your bottom further into the cushion, grab a pillow to hug and place the TV remote within reaching distance. After an hour whizzes by, the couch begins to eat you. It's overstuffed headrest takes command of your rested and limp body forcing your head and shoulders over your concave chest. To readjust, you then lie down resting your head on the arm of the couch. Oh, the smell of owners past and last night's Cajun chicken dinner. With a growl of disgust, you find a pillow to stuff under your head, the angle is too sharp though and a tight pain begins gnawing on your muscles. You get up and push the slipping cushions back into the couch and decide to lean to the other side of the couch trying to find a more comfortable position for your back. Oh, the overbearing headrest again. Within the hour, your head finds the armrest again and you sink into the back of the couch, its pillows surrounding you with dreams of clouds and that Cajun chicken.

My couch, like all the other couches, is the most comfortable and tempting location of my wee apartment, yet the most uncomfortable and the problem of most of my back pains. My couch is green.