Remember

There are 365 days in a year. We all know this. That means that for 365 days, we have a chance to learn and change our lives, or the lives of those around us. Now, I'm not sure if I did anything this year to change anyone's life, but I do know that as 2011 winds down, there are things that I've done and experienced that have changed my life and the lives of people around me.

Sometimes you have to know when to say, "Life really sucks right now."

Living in a small community has been one of the greatest blessings and worst curses I've had in my life. Knowing everyone within a 30 miles radius is great, until you start losing them. I think I have cried more in the last year than my entire 23 years on this Earth. Losing someone is never easy, but when that person is taken long before their time, you can't help but curse the world for being so cruel. I found myself wondering 'why?' several times this year, but eventually, I realized that I would never get an answer. People are taken from us out of the blue; others lose a battle that no amount of men could help win. All we can do is stay here and pick up the pieces of our broken hearts.

Sometimes you have to know when to say, "Wow. Is this really happening?"

I have been blessed with an enormous amount of opportunity. In a few short months, I will be able to tell people that I am a teacher. I will also hopefully be able to tell them that I am a writer. This year has been such a whirlwind for me. I've been so busy student teaching, and there have been times when I just wanted to quit because the pressure was too high. But then I stop for a moment and think, "Would you really want it any other way?" No, I don't think I would. My life has been on a constant do this, now do this track, that I really don't think I could survive any other way. During this year, I sent my first manuscript to a publisher, and I was REJECTED!! Yeah, yeah, most people probably think I should be sad. But what people don't realize is that authors are rejected time and time again before anyone even looks at a piece of their writing. This moment was important to me because although I was rejected, I tried. I never thought I would even do that. For me, it really was and is happening.

Sometimes you have to know when....to laugh until your sides hurt.

I have cried and been overwhelmed more times this year than I can count. But, the only thing that surpasses those numbers are the number of times that I have laughed this year. I'm not a outwardly religious person. I don't believe in throwing my beliefs in someone's face, and I won't do it if I can avoid it. But just this once, I'll make an exception. I like to think that God gave us laughter not just to dry our tears or curb our suffering. I like to think that God gave us laughter because it represents the hope that we all need in our lives. Laughter represents that little ray of light we all need to know that things will get better. Because it will get better, it will. As long as we have sorrow, worry, and fear, I hope we never lose laughter and joy. This years winds down, and another year full of heartache, love, and laughter will follow it as it always has. But as I look to the new year, I have one final thing to remember.

Sometimes you have to know when...to let go and live.

If My Life Were A Christmas Movie/Musical

A little known fact about me: I'm a sucker for terrible movies...and terrible television. I'm not really sure why, but I am sucked in by the worst kinds of shows and movies. No, I do not mean reality TV, that is just stupid. I mean those movies they play on the weekends just to fill time, and the television shows that you secretly watch but never want to tell anyone about. (Even though I do). As I contemplated what I was going to talk about for Christmas, I decided that I would just talk about my favorite thing to do during the holiday...and that is watch horrible movies. But, I'm going one step further. Since I am technically a writer, I guess I'll just create a little Christmas magic for you. Enjoy. If my life were a Christmas movie/musical.....

1) Everyone would love Christmas...except an old man...or a woman with some secret reason for hating the holiday.

This is a beautiful thing about Christmas movies. Everyone loves the holiday, save for a couple of people. If my life were a Christmas movie, I would spend all day listening to carols and drinking hot cocoa. By the fire, of course. I love Christmas, and one of my favorite things about the holiday is the music. I would probably listen to it all year if it was socially acceptable. I know quite a few people (insert old man and woman) that loath Christmas music, but I've just decided that they are sad, sad individuals. Usually, they are just lonely, and if my life were a movie, I would spend the entire two hour spot trying to spread the Christmas cheer, only to discover that they just want to be invited for Christmas supper. What an easy fix!

2) I would fall in love in 5-10 minutes.

It's true, I would. If I were in a movie, I would be ice skating (on a perfect rink, mind you) or grocery shopping. Somehow, even though I am a skilled ice skater and/or grocery cart driver, I would run into some random guy. When we finally righted ourselves, we would gaze into each others eyes and BAM! Love. Right there. In the middle of the taco shell aisle. (Or ice rink as the Zamboni drives by). If my life were a Christmas musical, we would spend the next 5 minutes singing a duet called, "I never thought I'd find love at a super market (or ice skating rink)." It would be an instant hit, and we would make millions on the download profits. IF ONLY. But, sadly, dream man and I would break up 30 minutes later because a former boyfriend of mine decides to profess his love or I find out he has a kid (that isn't his, but I assume and you know what that does...). Oh, the horror!

3) My family would be crazy.

Wait...didn't I say this was fictional? But really, I would have a completely neurotic family that controlled my life, and I would spend the entire movie (up until the last 10 minutes) wishing that I could somehow escape them. I would sing a power ballad, and the camera would fade away from me sitting on my daybed holding a stuffed unicorn. Eventually, I would realize that my family is what I need and they really aren't as bad as I thought they were. Which leads me to the climax of the movie...

4) I realize that the true meaning of Christmas is love.

Yes, love. Love for your family. Love for Christmas. Love for that random guy you met in the supermarket (or ice skating). I would realize that my family loves me, random guy and I would fix our problems, and he would have Christmas dinner with my family. (Because his is conveniently absent, of course). If my life were a Christmas movie, all of these things would come to me in the final minutes of the movie, and we would all live happily ever after.

Sadly, my life is not a Christmas movie.

But, that doesn't mean some of the aspects of my Christmas movie are not true. I mean, my family is crazy. I do love them, though. Dearly. I don't try to convert people into loving Christmas, but I don't stop listening to Christmas music if they happen to be in my house or car. Hello! It only happens once a year! I never really understood why Christmas movies (or any movie) needed to have people fall in love in the most random of ways. Do I automatically fall in love after tackling a guy? The answer is no. I do not.

We celebrate the holiday for many reasons, and one of my favorite reasons is because of love. Cheesy, I know.Christmas always has a way of bringing out the best and worst in all of us, but I always remember the best. Eating too much food with my brother, playing cards with my extended family, and yes, we really do sit by a fire. I really wouldn't have it any other way. So maybe my life isn't and won't be a movie/musical, but honestly, who could deal with all that singing anyway? It's exhausting. I'll keep my semi-exciting life and my crazy family. And you, my friends....

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.

Chitty Chitty Uncle Buck

The flower girl walked slowly in front of us, haphazardly dropping blossoms from a catalpa tree on an aisle littered with sticks and old leaves. I wore capris, and he, denim jean shorts. My hair adorned with flowers, my arm firmly looped in his, our party made its way across the yard to the makeshift alter between two trees. Suddenly, the flower girl turned into a preacher, and the ceremony began. After a hasty vow exchange and a couple, "sure why nots?", we were pronounced man and wife.

I had just married Kelsey Thompson.

Now, now, before you get yourself all worked up, you should know this really didn't happen. Wait, yes it did. But, last time I checked, a 5 year old little sister did not count as a preacher, AND, I did not kiss him. So, I guess I should retract my statement and say that I almost married Kelsey. But then, I almost married a lot of people. (Different story)

I have been blessed with a wonderful set of friends throughout my life. Some have been around for a short time, others have stayed only a small piece of my life, and then, I have the life-timers. The final set are the ones that you can't even remember meeting because you've known each other so long it is just easier to say, "I've known them my whole life."I think that it is rare to find friends like Kelsey and Carmen Thompson, and my brother Colten and I are very lucky to have them in our lives.

Okay, so I'm lucky....who cares?

I only recently remembered my "wedding" after a look out my window over Thanksgiving break. I have done many weird things in my life, but when it came to my experiences with the Thompson kids, there really wasn't a better definition of weird. (Not to mention awkward). Those two, in their own way, helped to shape who I am today. They showed me what true friendship was at a very young age, and they never asked for anything in return. We embraced the weird in each other, and I think that it is important for people to have friends that bring that out in you.

As I've grown into an adult, I have begun to realize how much I truly loved my childhood. I loved that I had wonderful parents that encouraged me to try new things all the time and to never let go of what I loved to do. I loved that I had an extended family that never forgot that it was the relationships that were important...and that pinatas were not our friends. I loved that I made two of my best friends at such a young age, and to this day, we can recite lines from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and Uncle Buck because we've seen it so many times.

Ultimately, it is the little things.

Today, my relationship with Kelsey and Carmen is not the same as it once was. As we have grown older, we have learned to adjust to the change. The truly lucky piece is that we haven't lost the friendship we established those years ago. If anything, our friendship is stronger in some aspects. I mean, Carmen has gotten so much better at marrying us in my parents' backyard; she doesn't forget words or anything. But really, I am so blessed to have these two in my life, and I write this because it is important to remember where you came from before you step out into the world to find a different piece of yourself.

And the part where if you don't remember, they will "remind" you someday with horrible pictures and stories.

Awkward

I always tell people that I've been going through an awkward stage...since about the first grade. I don't really know how it happened; one minute I was the cute little girl with the curly blond hair, the next, I was bumbling through this world with a flannel shirt and chunky sandals. For all you naysayers out there, I am NOT exaggerating. I was awkward, I am awkward, and I will probably be awkward for a while.

I've learned to embrace it.

It's hard for some people to imagine me as an awkward child. I hide it well, if I do say so myself. I didn't have many friends growing up. Okay, so that is an understatement. I could probably count on one hand the friends that I had, and the few that I did have would probably agree with me that we weren't the, "cream of the crop." (I say this with love). You could say that I never stood out, and I learned to deal with that in the standard way: I stayed at home and read books.

I learned at a very young age that being alone wasn't a bad thing.

This is starting to sound like a pity party, but I don't want pity. So I was an outcast? So I didn't have any friends? So my parents told (and tell) me on a regular basis that I was really weird and they wondered where I came from? I got over it. I actually find humor in the whole experience. I laugh because my life is so very different then what it used to be. Sure, I am still awkward. But, I find it interesting that when you grow up, "awkward" becomes, "you'realittleweirdbutIlikeit." Yeah, yeah, I'm the weird girl that stands off to the side of a crowd because I don't like meeting new people...but I blame that on my lack of social skills. (From all the book reading alone...you can't make friends with imaginary people, Chesney)

It is interesting, then, that I chose to become a teacher.

I don't know why I made the decision. I guess you could say it is because I love English, but we all know I could've (and am) doing a number of different things with that field. I think part of me did it because there is a little piece of that awkward girl stuck deep inside me, and I can't quite let her go. Being awkward was and is a huge part of my life, and it has defined who I am as a person.

It has defined who I am as a teacher. People become teachers because they believe in the power of education. They believe that each child goes through different experiences in their lives and it is through different people that they find guidance. Teachers are given an enormous responsibility to prepare the children of our world for what it will be like when they are no longer around to tell them what to do. Essentially, they are teaching children how to function on their own.

Well, well, well. It's a good thing I already learned how to do that.

I stress a lot of my writing on choices. I am a firm believer in the idea that we all make choices, good and bad, that govern our lives. Sometimes I wonder if I made the choice to become a teacher because I wanted to prove something to myself, that I was going to somehow show myself that I was better than I used to be. That maybe I wanted to snuff out the piece that defined me for so long by returning to the place that tortured me so much. But enough melodramatics. That isn't true. I can't change who I was, and I would never want to. Except for the flannel. I would take that back in a heartbeat.

I don't really know why I became a teacher. In a different world, I would be off in some room, writing the thoughts in my head until the end of time. Free from social stigmas. Free from the sometimes crippling feeling that no one will ever understand why I do the things I do. But, as we know, we aren't in a different world. We are in this world, and in this world, I love teaching. I have faith in education, even if I don't really know why. I guess that truly is the beauty of love, faith, and awkwardness.

They never go away.

Frankie Wayne

November marks the month for giving thanks. Well, November also brings back some memories that make me more thankful for one man in my life that could never be replaced. As the week approaches that marks the anniversary of a rather dark event in my life, I can't help but want to celebrate Thanksgiving a bit earlier each year.

When I go home to my parents house, I always follow the same routine. I walk inside, throw my bag on the floor, say hello to my mom, and then walk down the stairs to the basement. Before I can even utter a word, I am always greeted with, "Well hello, Toots. What are you doing here?" It is the same line every single time, and every time, I shake my head and laugh before sitting in the same chair and giving him the same answer, "It's because I missed you so much." I cherish these moments because there was a time in my life when these moments would have been non-existent.

My dad is a wonderful person, and I love him so very much. I fought with myself on whether or not I would ever do a post about him, and even as I write this, I'm not sure I really want to post it. My dad has been through so much, and his family has been through so much as a result of his challenges. I don't like to talk about it, and nine times out of ten, I end up crying about it all if I do. Frank Clark has been at the doorstep of death more times than I can count on my hand.

It is absolutely terrifying watching your father fight for his life.

I know that it is the cycle of life, believe me, I've been exposed to it enough. But regardless of your experience with something, it never prepares you to cope with the hopelessness you feel when you get the call that you have to go to the hospital. Or when you watch your father cry as you hold his hand in the ICU. It is nothing you ever get used to, but for me, I'm slowly learning to see the positive that comes from these experiences.

He is both the most stubborn and the strongest man I've ever known.

I don't know how he does it, but he just keeps coming back. He fights and fights until he beats the very thing that tries to take him from us, and I don't know how he keeps going. I do not know what drives him, but I'm not complaining. He shows me every day what perseverance is, but above all he shows me  that there are things worth living and fighting for in this world. Life is about the little pieces that paint a big picture that those around us get to see.

My dad has a beautiful picture.

He loves his family more than anything, and he has worked hard his entire life to give them the best that he can. His nieces and nephews adore him, and on any given day could probably spout off what has become a, "Frank Clarkism." His friends respect and cherish him; a couple have even saved his life, an act that could never be given enough thanks. His children see in him a wonderful father, and maybe one day an even better grandfather. Dad has lead a truly beautiful life, but only the man himself could say it best...

"Don't worry, I'm stickin' around."

Proofreading is Your Friend

Recently, I took a visit to a restaurant that I didn't necessarily want to go to, and my experience there only furthered my dislike of said eatery. I walked over to find a lid to my drink, and while I perused the utensil section, I noticed something that to this day makes my blood boil. There, created by a label maker, was a sign that said: Knifes.

I would hope that the readers of this blog know that calling something "knifes" is a grammar fail. Knifes do not exist, and I will never forgive someone who thinks otherwise. Sure, call me a "Grammar Nazi," but seriously, I think you learn about plurals in the third grade. Get it together, people.

I haven't always been a stickler for grammar. In fact, I still don't completely understand all the rules of grammar and do not consider myself an expert on the matter. But chalk it up to the fact that I am going to be an English teacher, that I read anything I can get my hands on, or you know, the simple fact that I spent two years writing a piece of literature, I've changed my ways. Part of me still doesn't care how people speak or write, but deep down inside, there is a small fragment itching to be free.

I think part of me has turned into such a grammar fanatic because I'm afraid of what is happening to the English language. It's not just "knifes" anymore. Through working in schools, I have seen so many words misspelled and misused that I never thought I'd ever see. Good lord, every computer has spellcheck on it, and phones basically write your text messages now. Proofread your things, people! Don't even get me started on what "there" to use. It. Is. Not. That. Hard.

I must admit, I am terrified to make mistakes when it comes to grammar. Yes, I spent four years studying English, so I should know every rule and how to implement it, right? Wrong. They don't teach you the grammar rules in college. Why? BECAUSE YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO KNOW. It is funny how you assume they would mention the important things, but they don't. You basically just float about your career path hoping you aren't making monumental mistakes. It's super.

My favorite thing is watching the behavior of people change when they realize what I am training to do for a living. My own parents tell me, "Don't judge me on my grammar." Let me tell you this: unless you say, "knifes," I'm probably not paying attention to your word choice. In fact, I usually just laugh about it. I don't want people getting the impression that because I have a degree in English, I am suddenly better than you at all things English. Because I'm not. I just tend to be sarcastic 85% of the time, which is my downfall.

But I swear if you use the word "ain't,"we will be having a chat.

This is my soapbox, and I will continue to vent about it until the end of time. The world is changing, and I can only do so much to ensure that the future of the English language is not going to completely fall apart. I just ask that we all take a moment to remember what we were taught in Elementary school. I'd also like us to remember one thing...

The exprets maek mistkaes, too.

Making A Stand

I love October for many reasons, as I have previously stated. It is a month jam-packed with many of the things I adore about this world, but one in particular has snuck up on me through the years. The overarching event that has taken over not only my life, but my entire family's, is that the 10th month of each year marks Breast Cancer Awareness month.

And trust me, if you belong to my family, you better be prepared to own a lot of pink.

It started off innocently enough. A bracelet worn until it faded white, a magnetic ribbon appeared on the side of the car, stolen and replaced too many times. But as the years progressed, the involvement grew much like the disease we fought to end. Agreeing to join a Relay for Life team, and later signing up for Susan G Komen Race for the Cure. Going to a camp each summer; taking an appointment on a board for your hometown cancer fundraiser. The involvement crept up on us; it seeped into our lives and took over. As bad as that sounds, I think I can speak for my entire family when I say that we wouldn't want it any other way.

Someone asked my mom recently if she ever thought she would own so much pink. Her answer? Of course not. I think the real question is, "Did we ever expect to own so many cancer related things in our lifetime?" Again, the answer is no. "Fight Cancer" memorabilia haunts each room in our house, the clothes in our closets, and the thoughts in our head each night before we go to sleep. I am forever marked with ink for my dedication to these causes, as are other members of my family. Most families go on vacations for fun, nope, not my family. We sign up for cancer fundraisers. But again, it is what we do, and we love every minute of it.

Lately, I've been thinking about why we are so involved with cancer awareness. Sure, my entire family has been plagued by cancer, breast cancer specifically. But honestly, sometimes it feels like we are throwing ourselves into battle for a war that we will not win. Cancer has been around for a very long time, and it will continue on long after we are gone. So why keep trying?

The answer is simple: we do it because of hope. We all know someone who has been afflicted with cancer, and we keep fighting for them because if we don't, that means we have given up on the hope that this horrible disease can be beat. No, cancer may never be gone, but it can be beat. But what I realized most of all through this musing is that we continue to fight these battles for the future of the most important people in our lives.

We fight for our children.

I will never know my maternal grandmother. I will never see her face in person; I'll never be able to hug her. I will never hear her laugh at a joke while she cooks a family dinner. I won't ever know what it is like to have a grandmother because breast cancer took that away from me. I realize that although I will never know her, she has impacted my life more than she probably ever thought she would. I may never have children, but if I do, I'll be damned if they miss out on a chance to know their grandmother because she wasn't aware. Sure, we all know who my mother is and the chance of her not being "cancer aware" is very slim, but this is more than that.

Other members of my family have been afflicted with cancer, and they have all beat it because they were determined to find it early. They believed in early detection, and that is the key. My family wears pink (and other cancer related colors), because it raises awareness. Call us crazy, but if our obsession with pink grabs the attention of one person, that is all that matters. We continue to saddle up and ride into battle not for fame and glory; we do it because we see a future while others dwell elsewhere in time. My family and I have hopes and dreams for this world that we may never see, but we will also never give up trying.

We imagine life without cancer.

Brothers

I love my brother. Yeah, yeah, everyone admits that they love their siblings at some point in their life. But really, he is one of my best friends, and I couldn't have asked for a better person to be forced to live with all these years. Sure, he irritates me some of the time, and at other times I wonder if he even claims me as his only sibling. Nevertheless, he is my brother and there really is nothing I can do about that. Colten and I have always had a great relationship compared to other siblings, and I still get the, "Wait, you never fight?" question to this day. No, we don't fight. (This really is true).

One thing that probably keeps us from fighting is the fact that despite our ability to get along so well, our lives have been basically polar opposite from one another. He is 6'4'', and I like to say I am 5'5''. He never cared about grades; I would've cried at anything less than an A-. He liked to go out and have fun in high school while I was at home reading Harry Potter. My brother stayed in Coldwater, and I left to prove myself. I left to discover what I was supposed to be in this world, but it took me six years to realize my brother became the very same thing I had spent so long training to do.

He became a teacher. No, not a school teacher. My brother became a teacher of what takes to be a decent human being.

Colten hasn't always been the charismatic guy that everyone knows and loves. I can remember growing up, his peers would make fun of him for his size. I was just young enough that I knew what was going on, but I didn't know how to deal with it. To this day, I still feel a horrible weight on my chest when I see a child that is bigger than the rest of his or her peers, and I know it is because I love my brother so much and I hated to see him go through that. But, despite all of this, my brother never seemed to let it get him down. He takes ridicule like nobody I've ever seen and it just rolls right off of him. He shows me every day what it takes to stand up to the bullies of this world and just let it go. Some people just aren't worth the fight.

Perhaps the greatest lesson he ever taught me was one I learned just recently. My brother coaches the middle school football team alongside his very good friend from high school, and their team won the league title last Thursday night. As I stood watching the game, I couldn't help but think about my time watching my brother and peers play football on that very field. When the game ended, I watched as my brother and his friend were soaked with Gatorade, and realization hit me like a ton of bricks.

My brother shouldn't be friends with his fellow coach. There really is no rhyme or reason for it, but a moment later I knew. They are friends because my brother did something that most people will never do in their lifetime: he forgave that man. He forgave him for everything that happened in the past, and they are living proof that we do have the ability to let things go. This is something we are taught from a very young age, but as you grow older, you find it harder and harder to accept. But right there in front of me, two people I've known my entire life showed me that it was possible.

Those two men taught a crowd of people a valuable lesson that night, even if neither party realized it. They showed us that humanity's simplest virtues are still out there, we just have to be willing to fight for them. Both men presented a scenario that we have all experienced with peers or siblings, and they showed us how you can overcome differences.

They showed us how to be brothers.

Embrace the Weird

October is the best month of the entire year. Yeah, I am saying that October is better than March (my birth month), December, and July combined, and we all know how much I love those other months. But, if you know me at all, you might be conscious of the small fact that I am a bit strange. I'll be the first to admit it, I have a fascination with things that most consider ridiculous and even slightly unorthodox.

I love ghost stories, and I proudly admit that. I don't just mean I love to hear them and enjoy the feeling of being scared; I adore stories, TV shows, and movies about ghosts. Ghost stories enchant me. I can watch those ghost hunting shows for hours without ever growing bored; I watch the same haunted history shows over and over again. My family thinks that I am crazy, and quite often when I am home I get the, "Oh, you're watching that ghost crap again?" I don't even care that it is probably the dumbest thing in the world to believe. Sure, I think the shows are hilarious at times. I squint at the TV for signs of a ghost and yell that I can't hear the "disembodied voices" they claim to capture with their fancy technology. But, I still find myself browsing the channels for anything that hints at a good ghost hunt.

Everyone likes a good story, and I think this is why I am fascinated by ghost stories. The stories that send chills down your spin and keep you up at night hoping you don't hear anything unexplainable in your bedroom. But when you really break it down, a ghost story is just an image of humanity's past. There is always a basis of truth in ghost stories, whether it is the location or the people involved in the story. For some reason, I have always loved history, and I think it is important that we hear these stories and remember them because some day there will be stories about us. The added bonus of a ghost story is the mystery of it all. The main fear that human beings face around the world is that we are afraid of the unknown.

Ghosts entrance us because we don't know if they are real or not. You can sit there and say, "I don't believe in ghosts," but really, how do you know? The answer is that we can't know if they exist or not, and that is the beauty of it all. I want to believe in ghosts, but I do not want to have an experience that makes me believe in ghosts. Because it is that slight edge of mystery that keeps us going and wanting more, and I don't want to lose that.

So why do I love October? Isn't it obvious? Halloween, of course. Halloween is the one time of year when people let go of their skepticism and believe in the unknown. They relish in the fear and embrace the ridiculousness that follows ghost stories. I love every minute of it, and I find myself giddy at the beginning of the month and so sad when it is over. Lucky for me, the shows are played throughout the year, so I don't miss it long. But, in October, there is a literal smorgasbord of ghostly encounters. Everyone falls victim to the allure that Halloween creates, and I can't help but fall into that category more as each year passes.

I know it is weird, but I also don't really care. I can think of several other things that are weirder than believing in ghosts. I have accepted this, and I am not ashamed to admit it at all. I turn on every light when I am walking around my house alone, I won't look out the window in the middle of the night, and I still find myself pulling the covers over my head before I go to sleep. Because even though I know my house isn't haunted...

I'm not taking any chances.

You Stay Classy, Laborers

As this weekend approached, I realized something other than the fact that I got an extra day to do nothing but watch horrible television shows, effectively wasting my day away. I have no idea why we celebrate Labor Day. Yeah, yeah, go ahead and mock me. Throw imaginary rotten vegetables at the computer screen. I really don't know, and I would like to know who to blame for this. I guess I could blame the American education system, but we all know that would be a bit contradictory for me. For all I know, someone taught me, I just didn't listen. (That tends to happen). So, being the "educated" person that I am, I decided to do research myself on the mystery of Labor Day. Naturally, I chose to use the most trusted source known to man...

I Googled it.

Well, lets just say it wasn't the most interesting answer I've ever found. Basically, Labor Day is everything I always thought it was, so maybe I really did learn it at some point in time. You know, or the simple fact that the name of the day is kind of a dead giveaway. I guess I was just looking for some spice. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the fact that we have this day of rest, and I am thankful for the people who protested vehemently for this day. I guess my real question for this whole ordeal doesn't have anything to do with the day at all, but oddly enough, is mentioned in almost every article I've read.

Why can't we wear white after Labor Day?

I mean, come on people. Who really even wears that much white in one outfit? I don't know about you, but I've never found myself in a situation where I had to say, "Hold on just a second while I put on my white pant suit to go to dinner..." Maybe it is just a thing of the past, or for people of "higher class" than myself, but I find it interesting that of all the traditions of this day, wearing white is so important. I almost wish I could be around to see the faces of the Archaeologist's who attempt to uncover the mystery of that fashion rule.

Labor Day is a great day. It recognizes the importance of the American worker, marks the end of Summer, and it gives us great fashion advice. So go dig in your closet for your white pants, matching jacket and boat shoes, people. After all, the rule clearly states...

You can't wear white AFTER Labor Day. (I'll meet you at the yacht).

School

I love school. This is no joking matter, I really do. The routine, the controlled chaos, it is all absolutely fantastic to me. I spent most of my life knowing what I would do with it when it came time to make a choice. I always knew that I would become a teacher. This whole writing a book thing really threw a wrench into my plan. Lucky for me, I do well with multi-tasking.

I started my student teaching this week, and what a wonderful week it has been. To be completely honest, I was dreading the start of this year. I didn't know if I wanted to continue on with my plan to become a teacher, even though I had to finish if I ever wanted to do anything with my degree. Not to mention the fact that I was out of my mind with fear. But, we all know that we are the bravest when we are forced to face our fears.

So I did, even though I really had no choice in the matter. I walked into a small building, a Freshman in high school for the second time in my life. Sure, that is an exaggeration, but by the end of the first day, I was a bit overwhelmed. But, I went back the second day, the third, fourth, and the fifth. Did it get easier? Of course it did. Am I still afraid? Petrified. This is me we're talking about. If I wasn't stressed out, the world might very well end.

The school I will spend the next 8 weeks with is a small high school north of Lawrence. Most of the kids have gone to school together since Kindergarten. I wanted to teach in a rural school because I grew up in a rural school. Inner city has never been my forte, and those kids would eat me alive anyway. They say to always stick to what you know, and call me crazy, but I think I know a thing or two about small town life. After all, I do hail from arguably the greatest small town in the world. But, I could be a little bias.

When we are young, we always play the game of, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" I'm sure I have had many colorful answers over the years, but as I said before, I always knew deep down what I would do with my life. It may not be an immediate thing with the way my life usually twists and turns, but I know teaching will always be there for me. I love it too much to let it go.

I was standing in the hallway watching as students passed by me, rushing to get to their classes. Boys who had known each other their entire lives wore football jerseys in anticipation for the annual scrimmage, while girls giggled at a private joke made years before I ever walked in the building. For a moment, I was thrust back into my past. Purple blurred to green, friends I made as a child replaced the strangers. I realized in that moment why I loved school, why I appreciated being placed in this school even though I had been there only a short week.

I was home.

Dystopia

Have you ever had one of those days that started off perfect, but by the end, you are standing in front of your bedroom wall staring at 2346 extra screw holes in the wall that you never intended to be there? Yeah, well, I share your pain.

Sometimes I think life wouldn’t be so bad in a dystopian society. Sure, there would be oppression and misery, but at least I wouldn’t have to move. I hate moving, almost more than I hate dolls, but that is a different story. If you don’t know, a dystopian society is traditionally a futuristic society built in a world that suppresses something or everything that we would normally hold true and good as human beings. Sounds fantastic, I know. But really, after my traumatic incident moving, I really think it is a step we humans should consider taking.

First, you wouldn’t have to move all your stuff up stairs in the 100+ degree weather, only to spend the next week unpacking it all. You also wouldn’t have to submit your mother to the torturous heat, who tells you every few minutes, “I am an old woman! This place is ridiculous!” Now why wouldn’t you do this? Well, because in a dystopian society, you don’t have possessions. Okay, so this may be an exaggeration, but most of the time, characters only have a few articles of clothing, and their stuff can fit in a backpack. In dystopian societies, the government provides you with a home already furnished, so you don’t have to worry about moving. You’re assigned a place, and you only move when you’re old enough to leave your parents. Additionally, if you have to move anything, the government has someone (or a robot) to do that for you. It’s perfect.

In a dystopian society, you don’t have to hang curtains. In fact, you don’t have to hang anything in a dystopian society because they probably don’t believe in such nonsense. No art, they don’t want you to be creative. That’s just blasphemy in their eyes! You don’t need curtains because the sun is probably blocked out by nuclear winter. I swear I would take that over hanging another curtain. I don’t even know what happened, but I can say that I am not handy. I wish I were, but I’m not. After a frustrated call to my father, who by the way, just laughed, I spent another 45 minutes hanging the curtain rod from hell. I broke the screwdriver, and I literally had plaster falling off the wall. Ah well, nothing some putty won’t fix, hopefully.

Lastly, you don’t have to check your mail. Why? Well, because in a dystopian society, the world is either too decrepit to actually have a mail system, or everything is done electronically. I never thought there would come a day that I couldn’t check my own mail. Truthfully, though, I have absolutely no idea where my mailbox is. You would think it would be easy, but it’s not. It is ridiculous, and I am sure my new property manager’s just love the girl who can’t check her own mail...

Dystopian societies fascinate me. I guess this is a good thing for me (and you someday, maybe) because I spent the past few years writing about one. I wrote this particular post to warm you up to the idea of such a place. My fictitious world is full of oppression and routine, and as much as I loved writing it, I would never want to live in that world. We all have our days, and we all hate doing things we don’t like or aren’t good at. But ultimately, those things are what make life wonderfully chaotic and unexpected. Sometimes it is ridiculous and I question if it can get any worse, but in the end, it is an awfully beautiful life. 

Here's To You, Mr. H

I have never really understood the line between laughing and crying. You know, those little moments when your body can't figure out whether to laugh or cry. I don't like to cry, and although I can't imagine many people really love it, I avoid crying like the plague. I walk away from people crying, or I avoiding looking at them at all. If I even feel a tear forming, I bite the inside of my cheek and force myself to stop. Most of the time I find myself laughing in the middle of the most inappropriate situations because it is the only acceptable way for me to cope. I know by now you are psychoanalyzing me, truthfully though, I just don't like showing emotion. But, as I have found out many times before this, everyone has a breaking point. Even those few people you just knew your whole life were as tough as nails.

It's not fun losing a friend. Quite frankly, it sucks. As I reflect on my visit to see my friends family, I realize that while I am sad he is gone, I am even more heartbroken about everything that he won't get to see his children do with their lives. But as I and many I know believe, there are reasons for everything and we can't control how long we stay here. We continue to have everlasting faith that there is a plan for all of us, and that we must do everything in our power to live the lives we were given to their fullest potential.

This doesn't mean we can't be sad.

I know my friend because of his mother. I worked for her for over four years, and while many people have mixed opinions of her, I love her like the grandmother I never had. I have always thought that she, quite literally, could move a mountain if she wanted to. In all the years that I have known her, I have never once seen her broken. But as I said before, we all fall once in a while. We were sitting at the kitchen table with her grandchildren. I was surprised at how well they all were despite the circumstances. We were laughing, telling stories from when the girls were little. But before I knew it, and I can't even tell you what she said because the only thing I could comprehend was this woman - who for so long was a rock in the face of anything - was crying.

We have perceptions of people that can last the better part of our lives, but in one instant, that can all change. I saw this woman, my friend, broken. For a moment, I didn't know what to do. But when the tears clouded my vision, I knew that was all I could do. No words can make it better, and no actions will ever fill that void. It was then that I realized how real life is. It was then that I realized how emotion can govern the way you control your life. Grief cuts you apart, and you have to choose whether or not to put the pieces back together.

They say that time heals all wounds. I'm not sure if this is entirely true or not. I like to think that time really has nothing to do with it. Maybe it is that each day, you wake up and you make the conscious decision to live your life the best that you can. You will never be the same, there really is no way that you can be. But I like to think that when you've hit rock bottom, there is still some semblance of a human being inside of you, willing you to claw your way back up to the top. You may never truly reach the top again, but with each inch comes more light, and it is that light that truly saves us in the end.

We were all still sitting at the kitchen table. One of the girls was squirming around in the chair with me, and we were absentmindedly eating potatoes out of a dish. I looked up in time to hear my friend say something about a silly habit her son had as a kid. I glanced around just as the table took a collective breath. The thin line had returned.

And we laughed.

Magic Never Dies

I have thought about this post for a while now. I knew I would write about it eventually, but really, after spending nearly half of your life devoted to something, what can you really do to give the "goodbye" justice? Well, what I did first was dress up in a homemade robe and wait in a theatre for 4 hours with 100 of my closest friends.

I adore Harry Potter.

This could be the understatement of the century, but it is a good place to start nonetheless. I have spent countless hours reading the Harry Potter books and watching the movies throughout the years. I can remember pre-ordering the books and running down to the post office the moment mail was posted to pick it up. I have watched each movie at least 4 times in the theatre, and have rushed to the store at midnight the day the DVD came out. In short, I have had a love affair with this book series. Because of this, I lay blame on two people of this world: my parents.

First, and perhaps more importantly, I blame my Mother. She bought the first book for my brother and I, jump starting a 13 year addiction. I also blame my Father for buying each and every Harry Potter book I have because in his words, "You don't pay for books." I have always appreciated my parents encouragement and support when it comes to not only Harry Potter, but reading in general. To this day, I still receive books from my Mom, and Dad never fails to give me a gift card every Christmas to a bookstore. They have, in their own little way, given me something they never probably intended to give. They gave me the love of reading, and I can only hope to pass that love on someday.

To me, the end of Harry Potter means the end of my childhood. Sure, I'm 23 and have not been considered a child for a very long time, but with the Potter series, I got to hold on to that feeling for a bit longer than most. I'm not the only person who feels this way, just ask one of the millions of Harry Potter fans around the world, they will tell you the same thing. Harry Potter is arguably the greatest book series ever written (you can protest, but this is my blog, so I win). I even say this as I continue to work on my book series. I know that nothing will ever take the place of Harry Potter, and I will never try to do so. But it is my hope that someday, when it is all said and done, people will come to love reading my books just as I have loved reading Harry Potter.

This is my goodbye to a wonderful 13 years spent loving a world brought to life by an amazing author who inspires me with her story of perseverance and humility throughout her experiences. But, as most Harry Potter fans know, it's not really goodbye. Because even though we have hung up our house robes, stood up from our seats, and watched the credits roll on the big screen for the last time, we know one thing to be true...

The magic never dies.

New Things

I have started a new project. I am still working on The Forgotten Series, but I also have something else up my sleeve. Something that, until Tuesday, I didn't think I would ever seriously commit to. What some people don't know about me is that I love Kansas more than any other place in the world. Sure, I am a little bias, but it's not like I've never been anywhere else in the world, because I have. I have been across the country and across the big pond, but nothing has swayed my love for my home state. I don't think anything ever really will. What does this have to do with my newest project, you may ask? Well, it has everything to do with my newest project.

I'm writing a book about Kansas. I guess that isn't exactly what I'm doing. I'm putting together a book about people of Kansas. The stories are their own, I am just merely writing it down. I want people to see that Kansas just isn't a bunch of flat land and farmers. But most of all, I want to know why people chose Kansas. Out of all 50 states in America, why did they come here, or more importantly, why did they stay? I will travel across the state, trying to find people living here that can answer my questions. At this point, all I have is an idea in my head, but my first interviewee is on Sunday.

His name is Larry Hatteberg. If you don't know who this is, well then, you obviously aren't from Southwest Kansas. Larry Hatteberg is an anchor for KAKE News based in Wichita, KS. I took a risk and asked him to be in the book, and he agreed. I am so excited for this opportunity (not to mention incredibly nervous). I will be traveling with my friend who has agreed to help me with the photography part of my book. We are going to meet Mr. Hatteberg at the KAKE station to conduct the interview. My only hope is that I don't fall down or break something expensive. This should be a valuable and educating experience for me. Mr. Hatteberg has first hand experience with the people of Kansas, and I know he will provide great insight for me.

As I said before, I'm not giving up on my first project. But, as my friend told me, "You have a new baby now." Well, I'll take this baby over a real baby any day. Ha! In all honesty though, I love The Forgotten Project, and I can't give up on that...my brain would explode from all the unwritten information. I just really want to do this Kansas thing. I don't expect to gain riches and fame from this, and if it only lands on my parents kitchen table in the end, that would be okay. This is a big adventure for me. I'm excited to see parts of Kansas that I've never been too, and I'm determined to capture the beauty that I've seen my entire life, and continue to see every day.

Who knows, maybe I'll actually get to see this illusive antelope our state song is always talking about...

Hoffnung Siegt

"And in the end, when all Hope is lost, it will be the Forgotten ones that shall prevail and save us all." -The Forgotten

Tomorrow, I will journey across the state of Kansas to a place that many have never heard of, but a place that has forever changed me because of my time there. I will reunite with friends that I only see once a year, and we will sit patiently as we flip through page after page of a simple notebook that we all see every year at this time. On the front of this notebook is the stamp of the American Cancer Society, and directly above that, etched in the familiar font are the words, "Camp Hope."

I always get the question, "How in the world do you do that?" The that to which I am referring to is Camp Hope. This may seem like a normal camp on the outside, but upon closer inspection, you find something completely different. Camp Hope is a camp for children who have had, or who are currently battling some form of cancer. 2011 will mark my 4th year at camp, and I have loved every minute of it.

I know the first thing you probably think of is, "Geez, that camp must be horrible." Yeah, in a way it is. It is horrible because you wish you didn't have camps like that, and in a perfect world, we wouldn't. But, despite what they tell us, we are not living in a perfect world. Even though it is tough going to the camp knowing what those kids have been through, there is also a beauty throughout the camp that you never thought would be possible. As I look at those kids, still smiling through it all, you can't help but stop and thank God for the life you have.

Because of this, I have found something in myself that allows me to keep going back to camp year after year. Sometimes I have to dig down really deep to find some semblance of a human being, but somehow, it is always there. I am able to do camp because the laughter heard there trumps the heartache I feel every year. It is hard, I will be the first to admit that. But it is on the days when you are so tired and emotionally drained from everything that you truly find the person you are meant to be. It is in those moments that I realize that the only two things we really have in this world are faith and hope. As long as you have those two things on your side, you will never lose.

I have a tattoo on my wrist in German that says the words, "Hoffnung Siegt." In English, it means, "Hope Prevails, or Hope Always Wins." I don't really get around to telling people the story of why I got the tattoo, but I have that tattoo through a combination of camp and my book. I had gone to camp for 2 years when I started my book, but I always knew hope would be a huge part of my story line. Three years later, things haven't changed much. The tattoo serves as a constant reminder to me that even when things seem at there worst, and nothing in this world can make it better, we always have hope. It is the one thing on this Earth that cannot be taken from us. The world can beat us down until we don't think there is anything left, but if you dig deep enough, we can find enough hope to pull ourselves back up to rejoin the fight.

And we all know, hope always wins.

Joy Is Just A Patio Away

I have the greatest family in the world. Yeah, yeah, I know, you have the greatest family in the world. But really, I love my family with all my heart, and I couldn't ask for a better one. I always relish the time that I get to spend with them, even when we are taking on a monumental project.

So monumental might be too dramatic of a word to use here.

This past weekend, my family and I built a patio for my Mom's 50th birthday. A patio, NOT a deck. You may ask what the difference between the two is. Honestly, I do not know. I just keep telling people that one has bricks and the other has wood. We assembled the brick one. And by we, I mean my Uncle assembled it. The rest of us just sort of stood around watching him, wondering if there was anything we could do. I mean, we helped. Everyone needs moral support, right?

At one point, my mother brings out a box and says, "We have a slip-n-slide if you want to get it out!" Now, what you have to understand is that my mom is the kind of person that has some of the most random things in her house that you don't think you would ever use, but one day, you may just have a need for it. Ergo, the slip-n-slide. Naturally, we bust this thing out and I decide to go first. As a child, I had a traumatic incident with a slip-n-slide that involved a combination of too little water on the slide and my cheetah-like speed not mixing well.... But, thankfully, I slid gracefully through the water, followed closely by my other cousins having a go.

Eventually, we made it back to the patio. The thing about my family is that while we definitely know how to have a good time, we also know how to buckle down and get the job done. In under 12 hours, we had built a substantial patio in the backyard. If we hadn't of ran out of bricks, who knows what could've happened. As we stood on our work, covered in dirt from head to tow, bodies aching from the long day of work (I think mine was because of the slip-n-slide go...), I couldn't help but love those people just a little more. My family may be completely nuts at times, but that doesn't change the fact that they are my family.

I think what I am trying to say here isn't just a message about family. I think that ultimately, I learned that with life, you have to find joy in the smallest of things. We spend so much of our time working, and we don't take the time to have fun every once in a while. We only have one life to live, so we might as well live it up.

So go find your slip-n-slide.

Memories

First things first....I sent a manuscript off! It can take up to three months to receive an answer, and while I am realistic about the outcome, I am so very excited that I finally got to this point! I never thought I would take my writing in this direction, and I couldn't be more excited about it.

These last couple of weeks have been full of many emotions. I have been immeasurably happy, I have felt sadness for a dear friend, nervousness over new beginnings, but most of all, I have felt incredibly nostalgic these days.

Memories are all that we have to hold on to in the end. This week, through an array of different events, I have spent a lot of time in the past. Whether it was brought on by a baseball game, a graduation, or a loss no one could control, the memories came flooding back, and I embraced them wholeheartedly. They made me laugh, and some broke my heart at times. But I have come to understand that we remember those memories because they remind us of who we are. They remind us that there are always going to be bad days, but better days will follow. They remind us that we must never lose hope in the ability of humanity to continue to love us long after we are gone.

What you may have already deduced from the title of this blog is that my book has to do with being forgotten. Well, in fact, the book is called, The Forgotten. I think one of the biggest concerns as a human is how you will be remembered after you are gone. We take great comfort in the fact that we leave behind a family to remember us, and that we have technology to help us to remember those who are gone. 

It is because of this that I have decided to let you read a small part of my manuscript. But first, I guess I should tell you a little bit about what I have spent 2 years writing...

Sophie lives in modern day New York City. A college student out on her own, Sophie decides to take part in a psychology sleep study to earn some extra cash. But, what she thinks is an 8 hour study is much more than that. When she wakes she discovers that she is not in the world she left behind, but she is in fact 200 years in the future. Thrust into this new world, she must find a way to escape this city and save its people before the leaders find their prisoner and dispose of their mistake that they had managed to keep hidden for all of these years. 


In this small excerpt, Sophie has discovered a futuristic device that shows her memories that were otherwise forgotten by the world...

I bend over and pick up a screen, and presuming that it is another high tech computer screen that I have no business trying to use, I initially do not touch anything but the outside edge. But before I can take another step, the screen turns on suddenly, and I am met with a blue screen. After another moment, the screen changes colors to red, and my name suddenly appears scrawled across it. By the time I think to set it down, a familiar tune starts to play from the screen, and pictures appear soon after. 
Pictures of me appear: me as a baby, my senior pictures, Mom, Dad, and my siblings. All of my family flashes at me as I stand there in the dim hallway.

“What are you doing?”

Startled, I nearly drop the screen, but after regaining my composure, I turn to her quizzically.

             “Why is there music playing on a slide show of my family photos?”

            Holly stares at me for a long moment, clearly not understanding what I want.

“How is this thing,” pointing to the screen, “projecting my childhood photos 200 years after they were taken?”

“That thing is a Flashback. It is a device that channels your memories, and shows them to you when you touch it. The pictures you see are memories you have of seeing those pictures, not the actual photos you owned. The music is a reflection of those memories, it is a reflection of your childhood memory of whatever you see and hear. I am sure that if you touch it again, a different song will play, and different photos will appear.”

“So there isn’t some place in this city that houses all of my childhood photos and home movies?”

“No, what would we need those for? We have the Flashbacks, they help us remember everything.”

I look down once more at the screen, and indeed, I see a new set of pictures. The time my dad took me to see a musical flashes across the screen, and I watch my favorite number in its entirety. My mother sings in the kitchen while making my favorite cookies. 

“Are you coming to dinner?” Holly interrupts my thoughts....

This One's For You

I think sometimes, in the middle of all the chaos your life brings, you have to step back and take a look at how far you have come. For me, that means looking at the people in my life that have got me this far. I am going through a lot of changes lately with my life, and as a result, I have spent a lot of hours thinking about my friends.

I have several categories of friends. I have my childhood friends, my college friends, my work friends, my family friends, and everyone else falls into other categories I don't think I need to mention. To be completely honest, I put people into categories so I don't have to pick a favorite. I can say, "Oh, you are my best (insert category) friend." Now that you know this, you can go ahead and hate me for it, but you know you'll miss me. So stick around. Please.

Regardless of what category I stick people in, I have found one thing in common with all of them: support. Through all of this, every single one of my friends has supported me and pushed me to keep going even if I didn't want to. Many of my friends have put up with my droning about ideas, suggested things to add, and of course, you can't leave out the ones who are irritated that I won't let them read it...(Sorry, Ray-Ray).

Ultimately though, I don't think I would have gotten this far without the support I received from all of my friends. I don't know where I will go with this book thing, but I just want you to know one thing: you have a seat on my tour bus. If you get a bus...it might just be a car. If that is the case, we can always rent one of those 15 passenger vans and sing Disney songs the whole time...

Why Not?

One thing that surprises me about this whole project is the amount of time that I accomplished it in. Not to mention the period of my life that I decided to take this particular endeavor on. At the time that I "received" my idea, I was waist deep in applications for the School of Education at KU, working whenever I could, and trying to figure out how I managed to have a social life. On top of that, I decided to write a book. A book! Honestly, who wants to do more work than they really have to? Obviously, I did...and still do.

Two years later, I have a Bachelor's degree in Education, I still work all the time, my book is done(ish), I've added a Master's degree to the mix, and student teaching in the fall.Through all of this, I ask myself, "Why?" The why is directed more at my side project than anything else; I could wait and finish it later when I'm done with school and everything else going on. But, despite fighting back and forth, I find myself at my computer on the weekends, writing and re-writing until I don't know what I was writing about to begin with.

What I am trying to get at in a roundabout way is that despite the fact that you have so much going on with your life that you cannot even think straight, you have to constantly remind yourself that you do it to be a better you. You can question it and deny it all you want, but at the end of the day, you do it because you want to. I do it because I want to, but mostly, I do it because if I didn't do it, I would always wonder about what could have been.

I got to come home for a weekend, and let me tell you, no matter what, I love home more than any other place on this planet. I keep in close contact with my English teacher from high school, and I went to visit her for a bit while in town. This woman is eccentric, everyone knows it, but everyone also knows that she has a wealth of knowledge and wisdom that should not be ignored. I was telling her about my apprehension on sending my book off to places to be reviewed for possible publication when I had school to worry about next year. She looked me square in the eye and said, "Why not? Maybe you could be one of the few educators in this world that actually makes some money."

Maybe I will.

On the brink...

I spent a ridiculous amount of time trying to figure out what I needed to write in my first blog post. I fretted over going with a serious theme, a comical, or a mixture of both. Ultimately, I decided that it didn't really matter. If you're reading this, you know who I am (not to mention how I am), so I shouldn't be too worried about impressions....I say that now. But, here goes nothing.

Roughly two years ago, I woke up in the middle of the night with an idea. To be honest, most of my "great ideas" are forgotten within five minutes, but for some reason, this one would not go away. As the days and months progressed the idea stuck, and it developed into something that most people, including myself, would never think was plausible. In a year and a half, I had written a book...or, an extremely long word document saved onto my computer and several email accounts to be more precise.

This has been the most frustrating, tiring, and exciting project I have ever taken on by myself. Today, I stand on the edge of the cliff of decision. I am putting final touches on my first book, and I am preparing to send it to my first potential publisher. As completely terrifying as this is, I know that I will always regret not trying. I started this blog in hopes that you, my adoring fans (ha ha), would follow me on my race to literary stardom (or failure). I also hope you enjoy the absurd twists and turns my personal path takes me along the way.

If you've read this far: Welcome. This is my life.