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Have a Rockin’ Summer: Adding Yearbooks to the Endangered Species List

My twenty year high school reunion is in the works.

I am getting old.

Also, I am not going to the reunion. Basically, I know what’s up because I am on Facebook, and I do not want to relive twenty years ago, unless I am torturing myself with distant memories to make fun of as Drew in Memoirs of an Ordinary Girl. It’s not that high school was really all that horrible (no more than for anyone else, I’m sure), but I prefer to leave the past in the past.

Unless it involves looking through my old yearbooks.

These are my high school yearbooks from WCHS

These are my high school yearbooks from WCHS

Seeing reunion posts on Facebook reminded me that I found my yearbooks a few months back when we reorganized and remodeled our home office. Those yearbooks are especially special to me because I was part of creating it from my sophomore through my senior year. From headlines to deadlines, to awkward picture caption writing and slow Macintosh computers using Pagemaker, I did it, and edited it.

Having recently taught at the high school level, I sadly realized that yearbooks just don’t have the same importance and emotional attachment (I used to use mine as reference books) that they used to. In my day (see- I told you I’m getting old), for at least a week after yearbooks came out, they were academic distractions. Often teachers, if they were cool, just gave up and let us have time for part of a class period to look at them and trade to sign them. For some reason people who hardly spoke to each other suddenly felt the need to have each other write silly things like “K.I.T.” (keep in touch) and share their phone numbers so they could “have a blast together over the summer, just like in science class,” or wish each other to “have a totally rockin’ summer, dude!” We would reserve special blank pages for our close friends where we would have space to write super meaningful notes to each other, and even draw pictures, and possibly use ten different colors of ink without the pressure of writing around someone else’s work of art. I think technology has killed some of what made yearbooks so special. Social media chronicles our lives for us now, so we don’t have to wait all year to see the highlights.

But I won’t be sad about it; after all, my senior quote in my yearbook is, “Hakuna matata!”

My Valentine to You…an excerpt

Ah, Valentine’s Day, a dreaded holiday for many, indeed. Drew is no exception. The following is the Valentine’s Day chapter from Memoirs of an Ordinary Girl: Fresh-meat Year.

Your True Colors

I guess it didn’t really matter what day of the week Valentine’s Day fell on.  Even if it had been a weekend, the SGA would have found a way to force us to celebrate it.  All week long during lunches people could buy various colored anonymous hearts for their friends, crushes, girl or boyfriends, which in turn would be delivered during classes that Friday, the official V-day.  Every delivery held the classroom occupants captive, everyone secretly hoping it was for them, but trying to be nonchalant about it, while those who were recipients would feign embarrassment. I had contemplated faking sickness myself that morning just so I could miss this torturous routine, but I could only miss four more days for the year in order to be exempt from any of my exams (I would also have to have an A or B average in the classes), so I decided to soldier on.

White meant someone thought you were cute.  Red was love, of course.  Pink was a crush, and yellow was for friends.  It was sweet that my friends didn’t let me down, but a white or a pink would have been nice, you know, for variety and all.  But, alas, only yellow came my way that day, and I had to watch so many others loaded down in pinks, reds, and whites.  Anne was so adorably happy in chorus with her red hearts from Shane that I didn’t vent to her at all. Yet I was so frustrated with Mona flaunting her twenty-nine pink hearts, and I wanted to get out of that class as fast as I could, that I completely forgot to stop at my locker before photography.  When I entered the room and didn’t see Adrienne, I unhappily remembered that she left early for a dentist appointment.  Lucky!

Mrs. Ansel kept us busy that day, but Dustin kept sneaking glances and smiling at me.  It was weird, even for him. In the last five minutes of class, three last minute heart deliveries were made, and somehow I received a white one.  Someone thought I was cute. It was my turn to act like I didn’t care, but I was actually thrilled to be cute to somebody, even though these hearts were sent in secret and I didn’t know who it was.  And then I remembered I would have to stop at my locker, the opposite direction from the bus.  When the bell rang, I bolted.  Without Adrienne, I would miss the bus on my own, and mom would be less than thrilled.  Make-out girl, with more pink and white hearts than I had seen on any one person all day, and a huge teddy bear with several balloons, was lip-locked with yet another guy when I got to my locker.  It took a while to nudge them out of the way, and all my belongings I had been hurriedly stuffing in there all year came tumbling out.  As I scooped it all up, pulling aside what I needed and cramming the rest back into the locker, Dustin showed up beside me.

“You need some help?”

“Yes, please.  I’ve still got to catch my bus.”

“Uh, they just pulled out.”

I closed my eyes and threw my head back in annoyed disbelief. “No!” I cried out to the ceiling.

“That’s pretty dramatic, Drew.”

“Not really.  My mom is not going to be happy with me for missing the bus. “We practically live in another country and she likes to plan trips into town like they did back in pioneer days.”

“There’s a guy down my street who owes me.  He gets home at about 5:15. We can give you a ride home then.”

“Ok.  I still need to call her though.”

“Sure.  I got a quarter,” he said, offering up the coin and gesturing towards a payphone at the end of the hall, close to the gym.

When I called my mom, she was unsure about a stranger giving me a ride home, but I told her Dustin would be there and I think her not wanting to drive into town won out. “Ok.  Be careful.”

“Of course, Mom, always,” I replied. As I hung up the phone, Dustin grew a smile.  “So, what are we going to do?”

“It’s actually a kinda nice day.  A little warm for February.  Let’s walk.”

“Ok.  Where to?” I asked.

“Wherever.  We’ll just go and see where we end up.”  Flawless strategy.  So we walked the opposite way from Dustin’s house and ended up under the bridge and by the river.

Along the way, I asked, “So, no plans with Alyssa today?”

“Nah, you were right about her.  She’s with Jonathan.  I’m trying not to get mixed up in all that anymore.  She just makes me feel bad, you know?”

“I do.  Have you ever been here before?” I asked, certain he must have been at some point since it was close to his house. It was a stupid question, but a distraction from the Alyssa topic.

“Yeah, but not in a while.  This tends to be a redneck hangout. I’m surprised there’s nobody here now.”

“I discovered the rednecks last time I was here.  Let’s hope they don’t show up again,” I said as I sat on a boulder.  Dustin took a seat on another nearby rock. “It is nice out here though,” I said.

“You going to keep wearing those hearts?” he asked.

“Oh, I actually forgot about them.  I guess I must have gotten one from Adrienne, Nadine, Anne, and Carmen.”

“And the white one?”

“It’s a mystery.”

He laughed at me.  “Not anymore.  That one’s from me.”

“So, let me get this straight. You think I’m cute or pretty or whatever, and you know I like you.  You have to. So why don’t you want to go out with me?  I feel like there’s something wrong with me.”

“Yeah.  You’re too good.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m not good, and I don’t really want to be good either, and I don’t want to corrupt you.  I’ve thought about it,” he said, eying me up and down with his left eye, “but I,” a pause, “respect you too much.  You know.  You’re sweet and innocent, and I want you to stay that way.”

“Dustin, that’s a load of crap!”

“No, it really isn’t,” he said as he threw his hands up in defense. “I’m a typical teenage guy and there are certain things I want out of a girl, and I’d love that with you, but it’d be wrong ‘cause you’re not one of those girls.  And don’t tell me that’s crap again because it’s hard to do the right thing with this, but you really do mean a lot to me.  You’re the kind of girl I’d want when I’m done being a jerk, but I don’t have that kind of self-control right now.

“All those girls with all the hearts today are more or less targets,” he continued.  “You know, the ones who put out. Once they’ve all been used up, guys will want a challenge, so be careful, ‘cause they’ll move on to girls like you. But you’re better than that. You’re special, and I need you to be my friend and keep me in my place.” His eye did not stray from mine through any of that, so I knew he was being genuine, even if the intensity of it made me uncomfortable.

“Yeah, I’m always a friend, never a girlfriend.”

“You don’t need all that anyway.  You’ve got talent and a big heart.  Hold onto your values and be careful. Trust me, more guys are going to start noticing you soon.” What was with the guys I liked being so full of wisdom?

“So, you’re going to hang out with easy girls like Alyssa, and I have to just be good, even though you might like me.”

“Yes.”

“That’s a double-standard.”

“Sure it is, but that’s how it works, because guys are driven by pretty much one thing, so they do stupid stuff.  I don’t want to be stupid with you…well, I do,” he said with a twisted smirk, “but I know I shouldn’t.”

“You are really confusing me, Dustin,” I said, annoyed. “You always confuse me.  I even wrote a poem about it.”

“Really?  About me? Can I read it?”

“Well, it’s kinda stupid.” Why did I bring it up?  It just slipped out.

“Nah, I doubt it.  Do you have it with you?”

“Well, yeah.  We got our journals back today,” I said as I dug through my backpack, sifting through all the crumpled papers floating around in it. I opened my decorated spiral notebook to a specific page and handed it over reluctantly.”

“You’re not going to recite it to me?” he asked.

“If you don’t want to read it…” I said, grabbing for it.

“No, I’m just kidding.  I can read it to myself.” And so he did, and I sat uncomfortably waiting for his reaction, and feeling like it was stupid to let him read it in the first place, especially after our conversation, but I couldn’t very well time travel, so I had to just sit and wait and avoid eye contact.

 

When Will Your Sun Rise?

When it is bright and sunny out,

What is it like inside your heart?

When everyone around you smiles,

Do you insist to wear a frown?

When all the world hears music playing,

Why do you keep the sound out?

When you are asked to join in something,

Is that when you run and hide?

When everything is over,

Why don’t you let it be?

When you hear the birds above,

Do they seem to turn to vultures?

When the day grows pale and dim,

What is it like inside your heart?

Tell me now about your life.

When will your sun ever rise?

 

“Wow,” came Dustin’s reaction.  “Sure this isn’t about you?”

“Maybe we’re a bit alike, but I was thinking of you when I wrote it,” I said quietly to my feet as he handed back my notebook. “Like I said, you’re confusing. I never know where I stand with you.  Well, I didn’t before anyway.  And you’re always at least partly sad, like there’s so much going on, but you keep it all inside.”

“Not all of it.  I meant it when I said you were special.  I guess you’re really my best friend.  I mean, I’ve told you stuff I don’t talk about, and when I was feeling so down at Christmas, I was thinking of some bad stuff, man.  I was in a dark place.  Knowing you were there helped me not…kill myself,” his voice quietly trailed off at the end of the sentence.  “I wanted to talk to you about it the night we all went to Joey’s, but that douche Danny was there, so I didn’t get a chance.  And actually I’m sure he’s a nicer guy than I am, but I just didn’t like him liking you.”

“Well, if you don’t want to go out with me, you can’t hate everyone who comes along and might like me.  And he went home, and we talked and are also just friends.  Apparently that’s what I’m good at.  But I’m glad if it kept you from hurting yourself,” I added.

Dustin checked his watch.  “It did, and now we should head over to my neighbor’s.”  He stood and extended his hand to help me up, and then he gave me a big, yet short hug. “You’re more amazing than you realize.  Thanks. And can I get a copy of that poem?  I’m a big fan.”

“Uh, sure.”

So I had endured another satisfying yet confusing heart to heart conversation with a guy I liked, who needed to keep me at a platonic distance.  I was cursed as a nice girl.  I cannot even go into the details of the romantic gestures that came all the way across the country to Angela from Ryan that day.  It makes me ill just to remember. And, yeah, she rubbed it in.

 

Copyright 2014 Terri Klaes Harper

 

 

Memoirs Christmas Excerpt- All I Want for Christmas

This week, I have posted three Christmastime excerpts from my second book, Memoirs of an Ordinary Girl: Fresh-meat Year. I am skipping an important Christmas chapter, so if you want to read it, follow the link above to my books on Amazon. In the meantime, enjoy this, the last chapter about Christmas in Drew’s freshman life experience.

All I Want for Christmas

Without Angela, and being snowed in, Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were quiet and fairly uneventful, which I was totally ok with. I spent most of Christmas Eve holed up in my room, alternating between reading and writing.  My mom and I made some cookies together and then it was time to open presents.  Yeah, we did the early present thing and got stockings in the morning.  I suppose this contributed to my not believing in Santa as a young child.

I’m sure I received some great presents, like sweaters, perfume, and maybe a music box, but much like the desire of Ralphie to get a Red Ryder BB Gun, I longed for a keyboard.  Adrienne and I were going to form a band, and though I planned to be lead vocals, I wanted a talent to back it up, even if keyboards were losing their luster in the early ‘90s.  I had dabbled a bit, and badly, with an old acoustic guitar, but we had given it away when we moved, and I had been teaching myself to play the family’s organ.

No box existed beneath our tree that looked quite big enough, but the last box was the right shape and big enough if the keyboard was smallish.  My parents handed the neatly wrapped box to me with Cheshire grins.  By the feel, there was no way this was a keyboard, but I was optimistic it would somehow work out anyway.  Maybe I just wasn’t a good judge of boxes.  I peeled back the paper to reveal a longer, more slender, naked cardboard box.  I needed a sharp object to cut through the mailing tape my mom had used to secure it shut, so my dad handed me a key.  Inside the box was a literal wooden board, wrapped in tissue paper, and adorned with pencil traced keys, much like the one my father had handed to me to open the box. The word “KEYBOARD” had even been neatly scrawled along the top, centered and everything.  I’d been had.  “Very funny!” I whined.  “Just take my dreams and smash them, why don’t you? Hmmpphhh!”

They laughed, and my mom snuck over to a hidden corner of our large basement living room and pulled out a much larger box.  “Maybe this will make up for it,” she said, offering this new gift, which obviously was a keyboard.  I hugged both of my parents tightly and tested out all the settings and voices on my new treasure.  There were 100 effects in all and it was glorious. I got my Red Ryder BB Gun.

On Christmas morning I found candy, toiletries, and more Christmas socks in my stocking.  We spent a good portion of the day watching some holiday classics, which even my mom was able to join in on since she only had to cook a small Christmas dinner for three.

We each spoke with Angela on the phone.  She missed us and cried a little again, but Ryan had bought her some expensive perfume, so that helped, though his parents had bought her a cookbook, something she did not take kindly to.

That evening, Belle called to wish me a Merry Christmas.  We couldn’t talk long, but it was good to hear each others’ voices.  Our conversation was cut a little shorter than planned when Milton started barking and running in circles by the front door.  Somebody was trying to open the door.  “Dag nabbit!” came a muffled voice from the outside.  My dad cautiously opened the door to reveal the Phillips’ grandma, the one whose sweaters matched her dog’s. She wore an expression of bewilderment.  “But…you’re not Phillip.”

“No.  Can I help you?”

“Oh, dear.  I can’t find my house.”  I didn’t know if either of my parents had ever seen this woman before, so I didn’t think they knew where to direct her, and I stepped in.

“Uh, actually, you live down the road there,” I said, indicating the Phillips’ home down the hill, all lit up, with a Christmas tree in every visible window, and one on the roof for good measure.

“Are you sure?  It’s kinda tacky.”

I suppressed my laughter as best as I could.  “Yes, ma’am.  I’ve seen you with the family before.”

“Oh, my.  It’s a bit slippery out here.  I don’t suppose one of you could help me and Lester out?  I don’t want another hip replacement.” I assumed Lester was the name of her dog.

“Sure.  I’ll walk you home,” I found myself saying before I knew what I was doing.  “That’s ok, right?” I asked Mom and Dad as I laced up my snow boots.

“Sure Drew, but you be careful too,” my mom replied.

As we took the short hike down the hill I learned that Lester’s owner’s name was Wilma, “like from the Flintstones,” and she had moved in with the Phillips a few months after they moved in.  She didn’t like her son or grandson, but her daughter-in-law was nice.  When we arrived at the brightly lit front door, I rang the doorbell because it was locked.

Junior answered.  He just stared at us for a bit, long enough for me to catch a glimpse of several Christmas trees, which smelled awesome, but having so many was still weird, like a forest in their house.  “Looks like Grandma didn’t get run over by a reindeer after all!” he shouted over his shoulder towards what I assumed was their dining room area.  Filipia came running, but an indifferent middle-aged man, Mr. Phillips, just glowered from a distance.

“Oh, Wilma, I was so worried about you,” she said as she gently took the old lady’s hand.  “Thank you so much for returning her to us,” Filipia directed toward me.

“Yes, thank you, Deary,” Wilma said as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a quarter.  “Here you go and Merry Christmas,” she said, placing the coin into my hand.

“Oh, well thank you, and Merry Christmas to you all,” I said as I reversed directions and walked as quickly as I could back to my own, normal home, twenty-five whole cents richer.

Copyright 2014 All rights reserved

 

 

Memoirs Christmas Excerpt- Father of the Bride

Here’s another holiday excerpt from Memoirs of an Ordinary Girl: Fresh-meat Year.

Family of the Bride

Not since National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation (still my family’s favorite holiday film) had my family attempted to go see a movie together, and that had been two years ago.  This Christmas, however, we were not all going to be together, so my parents wanted to make sure we got in some quality time before we flew Angela off to California to spend the holiday with her soon to be in-laws.  So what feel-good, yet funny family film could we see?  The Father of the Bride.  Of course.  After all, Angela was getting married and it was all she had on her mind. There were no Griswold moments, but Steve Martin was a funny guy, too.

Of course, just preparing to go to a movie as a family was an event.  We had to stop at a grocery store on the way to purchase affordable candy bars and cans of soda.  Winter was the best time of year for a movie because all of these snack items could easily be stashed away in our winter coats.  My parents (and Han Solo) taught me the value of smuggling.

The only theater we had around at that time was in Remington, at the mall.  My dad’s patience was thin when it came to dealing with the mall, and we were there the last Saturday before Christmas, so we drove up and down every row in search of a parking spot.  My dad was pulling into one when we all realized it was already occupied by a motor scooter.  I heard some indecipherable mumbling coming from the driver’s seat, and we remained paused halfway in that parking spot for at least thirty seconds or so while I’m pretty sure my dad contemplated running over the scooter. Fortunately for said scooter, someone a few spots down was leaving, so my dad threw it into reverse, almost giving us all whiplash and snagged the spot, much to the chagrin of another circling family in a minivan.  A grin of satisfaction spread across my dad’s face.

The content of the movie was too much for an emotional bride, and when we walked out of the theater people were confused as to what we had just seen because Angela was crying uncontrollably, and quite vocally.  I cried a little to myself, only because we had been surrounded by people with popcorn, but we had none.  Even if we’d popped it at home and found a way to stuff it in our coats, it wouldn’t have been fresh by the time we got there.

The next day was a day of snow flurries and we had to drive through it in order to get Angela to the airport.  Nothing was sticking, but people panicked anyway.  Passengers were still allowed to have their loved ones escort them all the way to the gate to see them off back then, and Angela cried the entire way through the airport- while walking, riding the moving walkways, checking her suitcase- the whole time.  She calmed down a bit when we sat and waited with her.

“I left presents for each of you under the tree.  I won’t be there to see you open them, so take pictures, Mom, please,” Angela said.

“Hope you don’t want to see those pictures until next Christmas,” I joked.  My mom was notorious for not getting around to dropping off the film for development.  Thank goodness for the more recent advent of the digital camera.

“Drew, that isn’t funny,” my mom defended herself in a playful way, knowing I was, in fact, correct.

Angela was laughing a full belly laugh when her boarding announcement was made, and she immediately snapped back into a sobbing mess.  “I can’t believe I’m missing Christmas with you.  I’ve never missed Christmas with you.”

“Honey, sometimes you have to compromise when you get married,” Mom said.

“I don’t even like Ryan’s family!” and she sobbed harder.  “What if this whole thing is a mistake?  I don’t really want to be related to them for the rest of my life.”

“Now is not the time for this, Angela.  Your plane is boarding,” my dad said, and she sobbed even harder, then she threw herself onto my dad and wept into his chest.  My dad was a loving man, but he never really knew how to handle emotional, girlie moments, so he just stood, eyes large, deer in headlight look on his face, and patted her back for a few seconds, his arm bent stiffly.  My mom saw his need for help and gently stepped in, slipping her arm around Angela and scooping her away toward the gate.

“I love you guys, even you, Drew,” Angela called back as she moped down the gate hallway to the plane, glancing over her shoulder several times before she went around a curve and we lost view. Soon after, the doors closed.

“Can we stay to watch her plane take off?” I asked.  I always loved watching the planes when we went to the airport.

“I think we’d probably better, just to make sure she doesn’t come back,” my dad said, and we watched until the plane taxied away and then rose into the sky a distance away.  It was going to be strange having Christmas with just Mom and Dad.  We all sighed simultaneously, and then Dad said, “Well, we better get going.  It looks like the snow might start sticking and we don’t want to be stuck driving in that mess.”

Copyright 2014 All rights reserved

Memoirs Christmas Excerpt- Wonderland

Here’s another little sampling of Drew’s life at Christmastime from her awkward freshman year. If you enjoy this, check out the link here.

I couldn't stop laughing. Drew could have had this poster.

I couldn’t stop laughing. Drew could have had this poster.

Another Trip to Wonderland

During the week of school right before a big holiday break little happens educationally, except tests.  Teachers figure kids will forget everything over the break, so they pack in the tests while it’s all still jammed in their flighty teenage brains.  Or they have parties.  The last few days before Christmas break were a confusing mix of both.  The worst thing was crashing from a party in one class when there was a test looming in the next, such as I did in pre-algebra.  It must have shown on my face because Chip even offered to share his test answers with me, but I knew I would have a better score even if I just made something up about a, or b, or x, or whatever stupid letter I was supposed to find a number for.

Chip was still hobbling around, but it didn’t stop him from giving me a bear hug as we parted ways that day.  “I’ll see ya nixt year, little buddy, cuz we’ll be havin’ New Years and all.  Git it?”

“Oh, Chip, you are clever.  Have a good and safe break,” I said as we parted ways.  Apparently, we had become quite good friends since he broke it off with me, or whatever it was. Chip even gave me a Christmas card with Rudolph’s head mounted over a fireplace. Classy. But at least he wasn’t flirting with me anymore.

Chorus put me back into party mode, but then again, that was usually all we did.  Of course, we had done some Christmas songs and caroled around one of the elementary schools earlier in the week.  Mona and Violet had made dozens of cookies and put them into little goodie bags to give out to everyone in class.  I overheard Mona laughing to Violet and Julia, something about plumping up all the other girls so they’d be fat in comparison.  I should have known there was a sneaky evil agenda behind the cookies.  The three of them made a pact against all holiday temptations.  If they wanted to sweeten up their celery sticks, they were allowed a small dab of peanut butter only. Interestingly enough, I felt no guilt over my plans to eat all the sweets I could acquire.

When class ended, I bid goodbye to Anne, whom I was fairly certain I would see over the break at some point, and Ally, whom I probably would not see.  Her parents were planning to send her away to a boarding school because her grades were so bad, and because, according to Ally, her stepmom was evil. We hugged and exchanged Christmas cards, in which we had each included our addresses, hers being at the new school. “Bathroom breaks from photography just won’t be the same without you.”

“I know.  Take care of yourself, and make sure you kiss Dustin today.  Seriously, he needs something to think about over the break…you.”

“Yeah, sure thing,” I lied with a smile as we parted.

Adrienne met me in the hallway before photography.  “We need to miss the bus today.  My mom already said she could pick us up at Dustin’s at five.”

“Uh, ok, but we don’t even know if we can go to Dustin’s.”

“Yes, we do.  We talked earlier when I caught him staring at Alyssa in the hallway.  You need to make an impression on him before the break.”

“Weird.”

“What?” Adrienne asked.

“You’ve never met Ally, right?  But she pretty much said the same thing.”

“She’s obviously very smart.”

Dustin approached with a smile.  “Hey.  So you ladies are coming over to hang and play some Nintendo today?”

“Sure.  You really know how to kick off a holiday break,” I teased.

“I know.  But I might also have some mistletoe around if you get bored,” he replied with a smirk as he passed us and walked into the classroom for another holiday class party.

When the bell of freedom rang, Dustin said he had one thing to take care of before we left and that he’d meet us at the corner down from the school.  Dustin had a real eye for photography and he had made some great prints earlier that week.  One was of Alyssa.  I had seen him pull it out of an envelope for a few seconds earlier, when he thought nobody was looking, and he wrote her name on the front of the envelope.  As Adrienne and I walked down the hill, I found Dustin in the crowd, slipping the envelope into Alyssa’s book bag right as she boarded her bus.

A small, thin woman in red was heading out the front door of Dustin’s house when we arrived.  I could see him tense up as we all approached each other.  “Dustin, Sweetie, I’m off to run a few errands and then to my work Christmas party, after I pick up your father.”

“It’s not an open bar is it?”

“Dustin, now is not the time,” she said, almost under her breath. “Who are your friends?” she said more loudly and cheerfully as she smiled at Adrienne and me.

“Adrienne and Drew,” Dustin replied as he gestured towards each of us.

“It’s very nice to meet you girls,” she said as she limply shook each of our hands. “Don’t mind the mess.  I haven’t had much time for tidying up lately.”  She reached up a hand and touched Dustin’s cheek.  “Be good.”

“Yeah, you too, Mom.”  We watched her climb into a large old blue station wagon, start the sputtering engine and drive away.

“She seems nice,” Adrienne offered as we entered the house.

“Yeah, but she’s not the problem.”

In the corner of the living room was a sad looking Christmas tree.  It wasn’t one of those charming Charlie Brown trees or anything either.  This had been a nice tree, but a large chunk had been chopped off one side of the tree, ornaments scattered on the floor beneath, where not a single present sat.  I tried to act like I hadn’t seen it, but Dustin caught me looking.  “My father used part of the tree for kindling to start a fire last night.  We had kindling wood, but it was out back, and the ax was closer.  I hid the ax this morning.  Good thing he wasn’t drunk.”

“So your dad is a drunken douchebag?  My dad sucks too.  Drew’s just about the only person I know with two good parents,” Adrienne said.  It was true too.  I tried not to take it for granted and sometimes I even felt guilty because most of my friends had weird parental situations of some sort.

We managed to escape the world where parents mattered while attempting to rescue Princess Toadstool, later known as Princess Peach, in Dustin’s attic bedroom.  Guns N’ Roses blared from the stereo.  We stopped between levels as “Don’t Cry” came on.  “I love this song.  I know it’s a released song and everyone knows it and all, but it’s still one of my favorites on this album,” Dustin admitted, and we listened without speaking, all the way until Axl Rose held out the final note, his voice wavering up and down, and then we resumed the game until Adrienne’s mom showed up.

As Dustin walked us toward the door, he caught me gently by the hand, letting Adrienne walk out ahead.  “I couldn’t find the mistletoe, and I couldn’t afford to get you a gift, so I hope this is ok,” he said as he leaned in and gave me a quick, soft kiss on my lips. His hand let mine go, he smiled, his beautiful dark left eye showing more of the green flecks than usual, and wished me a Merry Christmas.  I turned and walked into the wall.

“Yeah, Merry Christmas,” I said as I corrected my position and practically ran out the door.  How clumsy!

Copyright 2014 All rights reserved

 

 

Memoirs Christmas Excerpt- Deck the Halls

I have decided to post a few Christmastime excerpts from my second book (Memoirs of an Ordinary Girl: Fresh-meat Year) this week. Please follow the title link  if you are interested in more.

My favorite Christmas movie...

My favorite Christmas movie…

Deck the Halls…and Everything Else Too

My favorite time of year had arrived and I was prepared.  Mom had a habit of getting tired of old home decorations from Christmas to Christmas and would decide to restock with a new theme every few years.  I was surprised so much of our old stuff had made the cut to travel when we moved, but she’d had a year off since we didn’t really have Christmas that year. However, she’d seen it all again last year and it was now time for a change.  I scavenged most of the stuff she set aside to donate or toss out and used it to decorate as much of my bedroom as possible.  Most of it no longer matched, but I didn’t care.  It was festive.  It was one of the only times of year when the creepy red carpet in my room actually wasn’t so creepy.

As I Scotch taped a string of colored lights around one of my bedroom windows, I could see the Phillips’ car driving down the cul-de-sac with an enormous tree strapped to the roof, which I thought was strange since I remembered seeing them bring a tree home sometime earlier in the week.  In a few minutes, while I was wrapping blue tinsel garland around the ends of my curtain rods, they left again, treeless.  Then, about an hour later, when I walked out to get the mail, they drove back home with another huge tree.

It was the Saturday a week and a half before Christmas.  Mom always wanted to wait as long as possible to get the tree so the needles didn’t all fall off too soon and we could leave it up through New Year’s, but we were pushing it this year.  I was afraid all the good trees would be gone, so I’d begged to go that day and it was time.  My mom knocked on my door.

“Come in,” I called.

“Ready?  Angela just got home from work and your dad says it’s now or never.”  She took a look around my room and shook her head.  I knew the haphazard array of colors was not quite to her liking, but it was my room, so she didn’t say much, just, “The red carpet seems appropriate now.”  There were a few ways I could take that.

We sifted through the selection at the make-shift tree lot for at least an hour before we found the right tree.  My mom had brought along a couple of her more heavy ornaments to really test out the tree’s branches, and she had re-measured the spot where we would place the tree so we knew how tall and wide we could go.  A man dressed as an elf prepared our tree for travel.

As my dad was paying for our tree, I spied the Phillips talking with another elf at the tree lot.  “Ok, so you will hold those three trees for us?  I can take the big one now, and I’ll be back for the rest tomorrow.”

“Yeah, sure.  Phillips, right?”

“Yes.”

“Writing it down now.  I’ll put reserved tickets on them for you.  You need help getting the other one loaded up now?”

I walked back to my family.  What the heck did the Phillips need so many trees for?  How many did they have and where were they putting them all?  So weird.  Then I noticed that the Christmas sweater and dog lady was with them.  Of course.  That made perfect sense.

Copyright 2014 All rights reserved

 


 

No Hablo Español Porque…

Jajaja! Lo siento.

Jajaja! Lo siento.

I took three years of Spanish in high school, and four semesters in college, yet I retained almost nothing, something I now regret as I attempt to relearn the language. But why? ¿Por qué? Realistically, it’s likely because I never found reason to use it earlier in life, and that saying, “Use it or lose it,” truly applies when learning a foreign language. However, there may have been other contributing factors that should fit nicely in the retelling of Drew’s high school experience. After all, she is the fictional version of me (Memoirs of an Ordinary Girl series). Here are some samples:

1- The girl who sat behind me in Spanish the first year, the one who didn’t even know who the current president was during the elections of 1992, sucked it out of me by the vacuum of her empty head. That year I usually made hundreds on all my quizzes, so she attempted to copy my answers.  Once I caught on, I would purposely write the wrong answers, give her plenty of opportunity to copy them down, and then change them quickly before turning in my own work. Maybe playing stupid for so long actually made a more long-term impact of irreversible damage than I was aware.

2-Spanish III could be a whole book on its own.

  • Or teacher was an older woman who had taught elementary school for years and just switched to high school. She talked to us like children. High schoolers do not appreciate that sort of thing, so we began to call her by the wrong name.  To this day I am not certain if she was Ms. Thompson or Johnson. Apparently, she had a much worse class than ours, and after having us answer inappropriate ads from the classifieds of some Spanish language newspapers, it is rumored she had a nervous breakdown and left with no warning after just under two months.
  • We had a substitute for another two months (one who did not know Spanish).
  • My friends and I played card games, such as “Ochos Locos” (Crazy Eights) and listened to Beck’s “Loser” for our Spanish practice during class.
  • During our time with the substitute, we were expected to take a midterm exam. The sub felt sorry for us and left the room during the exam while we all looked up the answers and helped each other cheat.
  • We suddenly had a retired military man as our teacher. He was not sympathetic to our plight.

 

Oh, high school.  You ruined me…or did you just give me fun material for my writing ventures?

 

 

Because…Life

I don’t want to make excuses. I’m just going to be honest. If you follow my blog regularly, you know I’m not a regularly type writer, but over the last year my blogging has been fairly steady…until recently.  I hate to admit, but I’ve had to put my writing on hold for a short time while I adjust to a new life situation (sure, that’s probably the time I need to write most, but I just haven’t had time).  This won’t last long.  After all, writing is essential for me to function properly. I contemplated giving it up, thinking maybe it just isn’t important anymore, in light of my new role in life. Maybe I could come back to it later sometime, but that’s ridiculous.  I’ve always loved writing, even when I only do it for myself or to work through my emotions.  Since I left teaching over a year ago, I finally found time to do it freely and I cannot give it up now; it’s part of who I am.  It would be like cutting off an arm, and just as painful in a different sense.

What does all this mean, and what am I rambling on about? I’m just stating that the regularity of my posts will come again, though for now, they may be slow and erratic.  I’ll be in Guatemala next week on a mission trip, so no posts will come during that time.  When I return and for a couple weeks following, I’ll be adjusting to a new routine and schedule, but I’ll be back, so check in on me from time to time.  I had also planned to begin writing the next book in my Memoirs of an Ordinary Girl series in August, though I may now wait until September.  I have a few other projects floating around in my head and throughout various files on my computer. This is just a short pause.  I’m not hitting the stop button. I (and Drew) will be back.

You Can [should] Never Go Back

Some people say you can never go back. I can’t imagine why anybody would want to anyway. Still, there are ties in our lives that will bind us forever to our pasts, and I just knew I could never completely sever mine.
 
I was twelve when I moved to that dreadful little town. Out of all the places we could have moved to, my parents chose an obscure town tucked in the foothills of Virginia. It wasn’t really a bad town. It just wasn’t me. I had dreamt of a city to live in, or at least a suburb where I could peddle my bike up and down the road and go for walks around the neighborhood with my friends, up and down the sidewalk. What did I get? A house five miles outside of a town that seemed no bigger to me than a small village as seen only on TV… you know, the weird freaky towns on the Syfy network. I was born and raised in California, only to experience the biggest culture shock of my entire existence.
 
We got rid of my bike. There would be no smooth surfaces for riding where we moved. And forget sidewalks. When the roads aren’t even paved, what’s the use of a sidewalk? Nothing but gravel and steep hills from that point on. How was I going to cope?

 

This comes from the opening (after my prologue- or disclaimer) of my first book about Drew Hotchner (Memoirs of an Ordinary Girl: The Middle-ish Ages), a girl who just happens to be a version of me, and so as my husband and I drove towards Front Royal, Virginia on our vacation a bit over a week ago, these were the lines running through my head.

Trivia- Florntayor, the name of the town in my book, is actually made up of the scrambled letters from Front Royal, the town where I actually did live.

Trivia- Florntayor, the name of the town in my book, is actually made up of the scrambled letters from Front Royal, the town where I actually did live.

 

Writing these books means reliving my past to some degree.  Sure, the books are fictitious, yet based on some truth, some actual people, and some real places and events.

There must have been something about that little store and bad weather and adventure, because once we got out of there with our Fudge Rounds and sodas, ominous clouds formed on the horizon. Nothing was going to stop us though. We were having a picnic! So onward we continued. “So, what do we do if it rains?” Emily asked us.
 
“It won’t rain. And if it does, so what? We’ll just have to get wet,” Adrienne teased her sister. Shortly after, we found a secluded place under the trees, on an empty lot by the river. We spread our food around and began snacking.
 
Sitting on a fallen tree limb, I felt something wet hit my nose. “Uh, I think it’s starting to sprinkle.”
 
“Yeah, I felt it too,” Emily agreed.
 
“A little bit of drizzle won’t hurt you,” Adrienne replied.
 
“No, but a whole bunch of drizzle might,” I yelled as the rain suddenly tore through the sky and began to fall in sheets. The tree covering was of little help, as the rain only hit harder once it had a chance to collect on one leaf before it dropped in heaps. Frantically, we picked up all we could and started running. Adrienne was wearing her prized leather jacket and didn’t want it to get ruined in the rain, so she turned it inside out and wore it home like that. As it turned out, we later discovered that we had left behind the crackers nobody wanted, and every time we visited that spot thereafter, there they were, though the box faded over time from exposure to the weather. It became a silly inside joke.
-Memoirs of an Ordinary Girl: The Middle-ish Ages
 
Several references are made in each book to this little store.  I was a bit surprised to see it still exists, but not so surprised that it rained when we got there.

Several references are made in each book to this little store. I was a bit surprised to see it still exists, but not so surprised that it rained when we got there.


Another discovery I made on this trip was that where there had once only been five houses on my old road, with only three of them actually inhabited by humans, there is now a total of ten houses, and all but one appear to be lived in. The most dilapidated of all was finally gone.

My first encounter happened while walking to the bus stop one morning. Since it was fall and an early morning, fog hung suspended in the air along and across the road. Two rarely visited and quite run down summer homes sat on my road, their dead eyes of windows staring at one another from either side. One of these houses, the faded and sickly yellow one, probably should have been condemned as I’m sure other than the rodents and snakes that lived in it, the shell of a house was unsafe for much else.
 
But on this morning a strange creaking sounded from behind the should-be-condemned house, and some angry squirrels chittered and ran in all directions. I heard a slam and saw the shadowy figure of a boy slinking up the hill from the rear of the house, wading through the thick fog. He reached the edge of the road just as I was passing that spot. He was about a foot shorter than me, and though I’m bad at guessing ages, I figured he was a sixth grader or so. He avoided eye contact with me, picked up his Star Trek decorated backbag and began to practically goose step down the road in front of me.
 
What the heck had this weird kid been doing in that house? And why was his hair cut like Spock’s?
-Memoirs of an Ordinary Girl: Fresh-meat Year
 
I do not think this house met the same fate I wrote for it towards the end of my book, but it is certainly now gone.

I do not think this house met the same fate I wrote for it towards the end of my book, but it is certainly now gone.

My Place in a Mega-Event

Authors are known for their creativity, right?  Most people think of that as all part of the writing process; however, we also have to use our creativity beyond writing, and into the promotion process.  Books simply do not sell themselves, no matter how good they are.  People must discover them, and we (authors) have to create ways for people to do this. So, when I was asked if I’d like to join in a Facebook mega event with several other authors, I jumped at it.

Memoirs on Dreams event

I do feel maybe a bit out of place, as most of the other authors are writing in the genres of the supernatural, horror, mystery and the like, while my books are really only scary in the sense of the middle school and high school awkwardness that still makes most of us cringe to this day. Everyone has been inviting and hospitable, though, and maybe I can somehow bring balance to the Force.   Meeting other authors is an experience in and of itself, so I really can’t lose.

An excerpt from Memoirs of an Ordinary Girl: Fresh-meat Year

The Discovery of the Trekkie Newbie

With all the changes and girl drama happening in my life again, it had somehow slipped my awareness that a new family had moved in down the road from me. All the way down the road. Down the hill at the bottom of the gravel cul-de-sac we lived on. In my own defense, they really kept to themselves and we hardly saw them. There appeared to be only one child, and he was exceptionally quiet. Of course, he was also exceptionally creepy. I probably should have been keeping an eye on this kid from the beginning. Once I discovered him, I personally checked all the door and window locks before bed every night.

My first encounter happened while walking to the bus stop one morning. Since it was fall and an early morning, fog hung suspended in the air along and across the road. Two rarely visited and quite run down summer homes sat on my road, their dead eyes of windows staring at one another from either side. One of these houses, the faded and sickly yellow one, probably should have been condemned as I’m sure other than the rodents and snakes that lived in it, the shell of a house was unsafe for much else.

But on this morning a strange creaking sounded from behind the should-be-condemned house, and some angry squirrels chittered and ran in all directions. I heard a slam and saw the shadowy figure of a boy slinking up the hill from the rear of the house, wading through the thick fog. He reached the edge of the road just as I was passing that spot. He was about a foot shorter than me, and though I’m bad at guessing ages, I figured he was a sixth grader or so. He avoided eye contact with me, picked up his Star Trek decorated backbag and began to practically goose step down the road in front of me.

What the heck had this weird kid been doing in that house? And why was his hair cut like Spock’s?

Adrienne and her little sister Emily had already reached the spot where our ends of the road met that morning, and they were early enough to see the kid coming down the hill ahead of me. I had stopped to let him get a good distance ahead and away before I started down the hill. Both tossed a confused look past the kid at me. Apparently, they had not noticed him before this day either. I shrugged my shoulders to them as we all watched his abrupt stop, the placement of his left toes behind his right foot, and his deliberate, military style left turn.

“So, what’s with Data there?” Adrienne inquired.

“Don’t you mean Spock?” I corrected.

“No. I’m pretty sure his t-shirt has Data on it. Don’t forget, my dad watches that crap.” It’s true. Her dad watched Star Trek or the preview channel of television listings whenever he wasn’t fishing or hunting.

“I guess I must have missed that when I was freaking out at the weirdo popping out in front of me back there. He was messing around in the basement of the old yellow house,” I disclosed, pointing my thumb over my shoulder towards the decrepit hovel.

We speculated on several possibilities of what he might have been doing in that basement, letting our imaginations linger a bit too long on the storage of dead bodies. How many sixth graders have ever been serial killers anyway? Of course, we guessed it had to start somewhere. I would certainly keep an eye on Milton.

He did nothing at the bus stop or on the bus to help us feel any relief about our theories. He just stood at the front of the line at parade rest, staring straight ahead, a blank expression on his face. His feet made deliberate and exaggerated movements up the bus steps and when he sat down in the second seat he looked only at the tall seat back directly in front of him…the entire ride. Though we were sitting further back, we positioned ourselves to be able to at least catch glimpses of this new, odd child. Mrs. Nelson would love having this still and quiet kid on her bus route, and then they could team up to murder the rest of us, burying our bodies in the basement of the house right on my very own road.

I took out a notebook and we began writing out the story as we traveled towards our other doom, school. We hadn’t written any stories about Mrs. Nelson yet this year, but it was a pastime we had enjoyed during middle school. When we picked up Nadine, she had some great ideas to add. Apparently she had seen this creepy child wandering around all the way on her end of the neighborhood. She was relieved that he didn’t live closer to her and she swore she would never spend the night at my house again. High school kids got dropped off first so we all had to walk past him to disembark. He continued to stare at the bus seat in front of him, but now he was making noises like R2D2. (obviously this is copyrighted since it came directly out of my book)

 

We should be quite the mix of authors for this 5 day mega multi-author event. Come check us out afternoons/evenings from June 18-22. Also, enter our giveaway.  So many prizes!

 
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