other bits of blog

Tuesday, December 29, 2009

meet mimi

Hey all, sorry. I haven't posted in a week (my longest time not posting ever)! But you know how it is, Christmas and everything. By the way, merry Christmas! How was it for everyone?
Also,family is moving and we are helping them, I love it! I haven't moved much before, so we're all busy, but I'm glad I finally got thee time to blog, but no story today. Actually, this post consists of a lot of photos.
But before I show you anything, I have to introduce you to the faithful, white, very brand new scribe of mine. Actually, it's t
he one I'm typing on right now. Meet Mimi.

She's the new computer that I got for Christmas, a MacBook, and my first mac! She's the new version, with the interesting trackpad, the whole thing is a button. I love her so much! The keys are soft and it's way more fun to post. She's white and pretty and loads fast. And she's by far the best computer I've ever had. I love her so much. And what did you all get for Christmas?
Please comment.
I'm SO excited, and I hope you like Mimi. And if you don't have one, then there's always time for your fat cat stretching out on the couch, isn't there?

And there is not time for this cold, although I will admit that the snow looks pretty.

I just wish their could be snow minus the cold. But that's why we curl up on our mom's underwear, right?

Sunday, December 20, 2009

ballroom blushing

Well, I don't have long but I thought I'd give you this little tidbit of Dancing with Thieves. It's fresh from the oven, I just wrote it a minute ago, literally.

Dancing with Thieves
Silence comes over the room. Mica is blushing, and he is staring at my chest.
“What about your, um,” he stops for a moment, hesitating, “you know, your, your breasts?”
“Right, of course, how silly of me,” I answer, staring back at him and smiling. For the first time I notice that his eyes are not a dull green, but shining, like an emerald. They glisten against his coal black hair. “Um, do you have any bandages?” I ask, my eyes still locked on his.
“Yes, I think, so, here!” Mica fumbles with a cabinet. He hands a roll of bandages to me. Perfect.
“Could I do this on my own?” I ask when he shows no sign of leaving the room. Mica turns red as a beet, and runs out.
Alone in the bathroom, I take off my nightgown. It is worn and tattered from the night’s events. When my thoughts turn back to that night, my face goes pale and I stand still, naked in Mica’s bathroom. My crimson lips twist into sorrow. I am quiet and still, reliving the moment. Only when Mica knocks on the door am I startled out of my trance.
“Coming!” I yell. I grab the bandages that I dropped on the floor and encircle my fully grown chest. The binding hurts a little, but I will manage. After all, I managed losing my gift. My power and strength.
“Diana, stop it!” I mutter to myself softly. I slip on my gown again and open the door.

By the way (this has nothing to do with anything) I saw "Wicked" today, on tour. It's my third time! I love the show, but I'll tell you about it later.


Friday, December 18, 2009

late night hello

Hey! It's 9:00, late for me, kinda. Anyway, I was on my blog and I just wanted to say hi.
And now, "Bye!"

Thursday, December 17, 2009

the wetherbee formula

Hello. Ugh! I feel sick, I stayed home from school today. Sniffles, sore throat...you probably don't want to hear about it because you have it, too, and you're reading this for your enjoyment, right? Right, okay. And I know we're all busy, but I just wanted to give thanks today to a very important person in my life. Sorry I took so long to tell you all, but I had the sniffles severely last Tuesday, and it wasn't from a cold.
You know how the government didn't give enough money to some of the schools this year? Yes. So, at my school, they had to make a couple cuts. Because there are about three teachers in the grade above me who teach science, one of them is coming down to our grade, and my science teacher is being laid off. I've had my science teacher for two months (that's why she's the one going, because she's new), and those two months have changed my life. Literally, I'm not exaggerating!
Her name is Mrs. Wetherbee. I think she is probably the best teacher I've ever had in my life, and I've had a lot of amazing teachers. Mrs. Wetherbee makes science fun. Any time I'm feeling sad and I go into her classroom, I'm cheered up in an instant because of all the joy and love that just radiates from her. Science is my favorite class, now, because of her. Mrs. Wetherbee, when you read this, and I know you will sometime, I just want to tell you that I love you. I love you from the bottom of my heart, to the tip. You're not just a teacher, you're a friend. A very amazing friend. I'm so sad to see her go, but at least there's some good new about the whole situation.
Our new science teacher is pregnant. She'll start teaching us January 4th, after the holiday break, and she'll be leaving at the end of February or so, then staying out for the rest of the year on maternity leave. She's gong to need a substitute when she goes. She's going to try as hard as she can to make that substitute be Mrs. Wetherbee. If Mrs. Wetherbee, no, when (I'm thinking in the positive, okay) she comes back, class will be heaven once more, and I really hope that it does become heaven again.

This is the Wetherbee Formula:
wet + her + bee = wetherbee = we(a)ther + bee = smiles + love + hugs + science + friendship = what mrs. wetherbee is

Thanks for reading, I just had to get that off my shoulders.
Now I'll go do the homework she assigned me.

Saturday, December 12, 2009


Hey, guys. I haven't posted forever! But, you know, I've been pretty busy. December is the month of everything, literally. I'm rehearsing for a chorus concert, everyone's birthday is in December (by the way, happy b-day, Alana!), Christmas, trauma (I love you, Mrs. Wetherbee!), and bladi-blah.

But I also went to Chocolate Springs in Lenox and I recorded an improv song on the piano with my teacher. That was when the first real snow was, last Saturday. The song is called Snowfall, partly because the snow was falling pretty heavily, but also because it sounded like snow, I think. I think it sounded like this.

White stares back at me
Black follows the lead
They march
All straight in line
All perfect in formation
They dip
And swerve
Under my touch
And out comes the sound
The high
Melodious sound
Just as the snow falls around me
All around outside
Tiny flakes
I gently smile
And I listen to the low notes
To the high
That I play
Those keys
That I touch
And so I shiver
A recording
My beginning
The real beginning to the music
Trapped inside me
Wanting to come out
And it does
It finds a door
An opening
In my heart
And the music falls to the keys
Of the piano
Just like the tiny snowflakes do
As they drop
And hit the ground
In a snowfall

Thursday, December 3, 2009

a pogo stick

Well, today's the day that I post the answer to "boingy boingy".
Sad to say, I got one comment. So, I'm giving this post up to...
Chris! (wild applause)
Chris (who just happens to be my dad) was the one contestant. I want to thank him very much for competing (unlike you!!) Sad to say again, though, he was wrong. The "boingy boingy" was not a pogo stick, as he suspected. Instead, it was...
I wrote that poem as I was jumping on my neighbor's trampoline. It was night, and I had bare feet so they got really cold. That must have triggered something in my brain to write a poem. Anyway, I talked to myself saying a poem, and it was originally ten minutes. But once I got inside, I wrote it down. Most of it, anyway. I forgot a lot of it, so I basically wrote a new poem.
I'm getting boring, aren't I?
Well, then, I'll leave you to your grief, and your guilt that you didn't enter the contest...
If you want to make up for it, then vote on my poll at the bottom of the page.

Monday, November 30, 2009

the rain to the rainbow

Brr, it’s cold.
And rainy.
And wet.
And slippery.
And dark.
And dreary.
No fun.

Any of you out there like rain?
Oh, well, guess I can’t be the all mighty dictator of you and your minds.
Anyway, I’ll give you some information on it.
Rain, I mean.

Earth is Crying
Stare to the sky
The day was cold
Was wet
The clouds are gray
And dark
They threaten rain
Tiny drops
And drips
And plops
On the roof
It falls
The first plop lands
Turning my hair dark
And cold
I run
Run to cover
Run to shelter and warmth
The rain wants me to watch its dance
It starts
First drops
And more
They fall too quick to dodge
To quick to duck
Sheets of ice
Surround me
Making no sound
Rising up and down
Pulled back by the wind
Into the cloud
Into the dark
The cold
They collect their friends
And fall again
This time they drop
And hit my nose
My feet
I tilt my head
Stretch out my tongue
And wait for those drops
Of sky and earth and all
To fall
I drink
I sip
The earth is crying
But it cries with joy
And I know
That we must fill its joy
Help to carry that burden
And take it upon ourselves
To save our home

As the rain stops
The sun shines
A colorful arc shines in the sky
The earth is crying
But it cries with joy

Fine, I agree with you. Rain is alright.

After all, it does bring rainbows.

Saturday, November 28, 2009

live, eat, give thanks

Living Gratitude
Helped and cherished
Loved and cared for
Songs and family
And friends
And those who you don’t know
Those who show up
And disappear
Those who know you
Those who feel you
Who see you
For who you are
The ones that are there
In the night
Hovering in and
Of your dreaming
This is Life
Life who cares
Life who loves
Life who knows you and sees you
Life is the one on our table
Life is why we hold our heads high
Life is you
And all you are
And all you can be
And we save this day
This day of feast
To rejoice
To celebrate
To give gratitude
To life
To give thanks
And remember
To find friends
To see loved ones
Eat and tell
The stories of the past
The love that is there
That love
Is life
Live it

Wednesday, November 25, 2009


Diana is not only a spy, but she is almost a boy now.

Mica takes my hand, and leads me through the street. They are strange and unfamiliar, but Mica seems to know them well.
“Where are we?” I ask abruptly.
“Dublin,” he says.
“Dublin? You mean Dublin in Ireland?”
“Yeah, what did you think I meant?”
“I don’t know. Three days ago, I was in Oxford.”
He stares at me.
“So, you were in Oxford, big deal.”
“Oxford, England. I have no idea how I got to be in Ireland. No idea.”
“Oh.” Mica turns pink, then forgetting his situation, he leads me onward. We don’t talk for a while, lost in our own thoughts. But the silence seems deafening.
“Where are we going?” I ask when Mica turns onto a busy cobblestone street.
“To the Dragonfly.” He turns around and keeps walking.
Mica’s short hair is coal black, like night. The edges curl around his soft, inquisitive face, like a young boy. But I feel a royal air about him. He holds himself high.
I look down at myself. My tattered, wet nightgown still clings to my body. My slippers have fallen off, and my hair is tangled and uncombed. Suddenly I feel embarrassed to look like this in front of Mica. I try to comb out my hair with my fingers, and straighten out my dress. Nothing works. I turn red, and look down at the street until Mica stops me in front of a small inn.
“Diana, I don’t know you very well, but I need to tell you something before we go inside.”
“Alright, go ahead.”
“I’m a thief, Diana.” I smile, I have my own secret.
“I’m a spy,” I say. Mica raises his eyebrows quickly, and then keeps talking.
“Anyway, I’m the advisor to the King. The King of the Thieves. I’m his spy, his best friend, and, we, well, the Rouges, that’s us, the thieves, don’t exactly…” he trails off.
“Let girls in,” I say, finishing his sentence.
“So I have to turn into a boy?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says again. He leads me to the back of the inn, explaining. “If you want to stay here, then I have to take you into my room. The back way. By the way, this is the Dragonfly.” Mica takes me to a tiny door in a fence. He pulls a key out of his pocket, and unlocks it.
“A Rouge, needing a key. That’s interesting,” I tease. Mica smiles and opens the door. A tiny rope swings from a window on the third story. He starts climbing, and pulls me up after him. We step into his room. For a thief, the room is like a palace. Rooms, actually. He has his own bathroom, and a door, I think, that connects him to the King.
“Come on,” he says, gesturing toward the bathroom. I follow him, blushing. “Sit down.” He indicates a chair in the corner. I sit, and he runs into his room.
Mica comes back holding scissors. He makes cutting motions with his hands, looking at me. I nod my head.
The boy walks up to me and cuts the first lock. Soon, almost all my hair is on the floor. I finger what’s left. My copper red hair is cropped to my chin, curling to frame my sharp jaw and high cheekbones. Mica hands me a mirror. I look like my brother, who’s two years older than me. I look like a boy.


Tuesday, November 24, 2009


Guess what this is. No, not the picture, the poem!

Reaching for Clouds
The black mechanism
Looms toward me
As I walk from my door
I do not yet know its power
Its force
I climb the two silver rungs
Walk onto the machine
Of motions lyrics
I jump…

Suddenly I fly upward
Taller than the tree in my yard
The tallest pine
And oak and maple
Until I reach that unknown land
The pearly puffs of cloud
Twist themselves to form
White and tangled ropes
So that I may squeeze
And not fall to that machine
I reach out
I grab and hold
It disappears into the night
Gone with its friends
I fall
The wind whipping my hair
Across my face
I plunge
As tall as the tree
I grope with my hands
Grabbing a limb
Of the maple
Wanting to defy gravity
Save myself from that endless
Rhythmic motion
I can not stop this
Tick tick tick
I stare at the watch on my wrist
It tells me time and change
And it has only been a mere ten seconds
It feels as if days have passed
As I scrunch up my knees
Leap to this strange motion
In the air
I close my eyes
And drop to the darkness…

My eyes open
I am sitting on the black
The tears and the rips
The rusty springs
My fall was stopped
By some strong force
I stand again and jump
I know it will all repeat itself
But I face the challenge

Hint: boing. Boing.
Comment, tell me what it is, and I’ll post the answer next time.
Until then...oh, duh! Um...wait!...Um...have fun?
Yeah, have fun!
And comment!

Sunday, November 22, 2009


I just started typing this morning. It just came out. Dragons!—Well, sort of, on the cover. Magic!—For a little while. Friendship comes out, and love. But not yet. Here goes.
Dancing With Thieves
Singed Candle Flames
Rap, rap, rap!! The rain pounds on the door and the knocks are heard throughout the house. The girl gets up. She walks to the door and opens it. She screams. There is silence.

I wake up, stunned. The room smells as if all the sewer water of Great Britain was dumped inside. My nose wrinkles automatically. What is the daughter of a wealthy family doing in such conditions?
I think to try and answer my own question. I remember rain against the door and someone knocking. Did Mother get the door? Was it only the rain knocking? Did it flood the house? All these answers seem unreasonable. I am still wondering when I notice that I am not home at all.
So I look at my surroundings. Wooden walls are covered with cobwebs and stained with something sour. A door blends into the wall but I can still make out the nails and bolts and sheets of metal that make up the red and rusty knob. The floor is a dull concrete and as I wipe my hand over it and inch of dust is revealed. I wipe my hand off. Then, as I see what is there in my palm, I let out a small squeak. Dried, caked, blood covers my hand from the tip of each finger running down to my ripped sleeve. I pull the sleeve up and I quiver at what I see, trying not to cry out. A gash almost as big as my arm itself, runs from my wrist to my shoulder.
Luckily, as I remember now, it will all be fine, it will all be fine. The fingers of my left hand automatically smooth over my wound. I feel my fingers tingling in the presence of my strange and unknown gift of magic. My fingers fly and dance, and then as I take them away, the wound is gone. I smile, knowing that I am probably the only person in the world who knows these tricks.
The second my hand flies back to my side, I hear a creak. I hear more. Seven tall men covered in large, black suits surround me. But I am not afraid. My left hand again flies up, and I sing one swift, high note. Wind, in strong gusts and blows surrounds me, so I know I am protected. But a large man barrels through the winds and pulls down my hand. The wind stops. The men stare stupidly at me, as if I were some circus lion with a hunched back and a fierce spirit. I just smile. I know that I can take them down in one blow easily, but I have to make the large man holding my good hand to let go. I have to wait.
And as I wait, they stop. They stare. How could such a tiny girl overtake them? I am invincible. They know that. They are afraid. My strange, purple eyes bore into the man holding me. They flash; they gleam with power, as my own magic pulses into every vein in my body. He falls back, stunned, and lets go. The men crowd around me, but do not dare to touch me. Smirking, I raise my left hand, my good hand, my strong hand, and I sing.
The first note is soft and gentle, crooning as a mother would to her child. It seeps into the men’s brains and encircles them with empty memories of love and hope, of cradles and their mothers’ hands. They drift and float and dance, as if in a stupor. I gently guide them; guide them with my song of sweet, listless joy, out of my prison.
Once we leave the room, I stop singing. I know this is a mistake as soon as the last notes leave my lips. The men lurch, as if they are cats, waking up from a dream, and finding a mouse sleeping by their side. The men attack.
My arms are pulled down to my sides and wet, sweaty fingers cover my mouth. I try to fight back but I fail. If only my left hand was free! Then I could fight. I suddenly think of my teacher’s words. A spy will always fairly fight another one. This is not fair. I keep struggling but I am still no match for those sweaty, greasy hands. Another creak sounds then. My opponents stop fighting, but their grips are still as strong as ever. As I am held down, I cannot see who has entered. All I see are large feet clad in black boots. The leader of this mob who has captured me, as I guess.
“I know who you are, Diana.”
I am startled. How does he know my name? Who is this man? Then it all comes back to me. My training, I am a trained spy, you know. This was my father’s classmate in training, Edmond Duvall. But when he learned that my father was more powerful than him, they became enemies. Long story short, it’s kind of like the classical enemy-to-good-guy thing. But this is more than that. Edmond is on the hunt for my father. He knows a couple tricks himself.
He proves this to me as he lifts his right hand and he sings one note, as always. The note is gruff and low. If only I could fight back! I know this very song. It is the song of earth, the song to make any object rise and fall at the will of its commander. It is the song of flight, and I know who it is directed at.
The sleeve of my nightgown cuts into my arm and the dress shapes out my body as I rise into the air. My long red hair streams around my face, blinding me as the men let go of me, shocked. I wonder if they know that their king has this power. I smile to myself then. My left hand is free. I try to raise it, but the song holds me down with its magic. Slowly but surely, I reach into myself to find that small flame of magic, and I sing one note without my hand raised. I am inexperienced with this type of power; I have only tried it once because it is dangerous. My raised hand gives me control, but while I sing like this, even if I sing as high as a note of water or as low as one of fire, anything could happen.
But I sing. I sing of the winds and the rain, the thunder and the lightning. I sing a thunder clap to shake his ears like the cry of an eagle. Instead, water flows up five and a half feet high. The large men gurgle and sputter, they very obviously cannot swim. But Edmond holds his ground. He is taller than the water, but I know that it chills him to the bone. His magical grip on me loosens, but it is still there. I try with all my might to raise my left hand but he is too strong for me.
CLAP! For a moment I cannot tell what this sound is but then my shock fades away. I am free. I am floating on the surface of the water but I am free. My left hand flies up and, treading water, I sing out my thunder clap. Feeling my anger surge through me. He has no right to do this. No right! But he doesn’t care. He and his other spies are a mob of bloodthirsty brutes. I hate them. And him.
“Edmond Duvall, I remember you! I will!” I scream, then with my magic, I vanish into the morning.
I don’t know where I am, though. I am in water still. I have gone nowhere. Anger doesn’t help magic, it only hinders, I remember my teacher saying. I calm down. I calm down. I am calm.
I sing the note again. I still go nowhere. He is stronger than me. I am not strong enough, I think. But how can I not disappear?
Soon I hear another note. Edmond’s song hangs in the air, and then dies. The water vanishes. I see his face then. It is bony and old and ugly. I see his blue eyes, gleaming with power. Then I see nothing.

My eyes open and I know. I know it is gone. The shock is still there, so it doesn’t hurt, but I know. There is an absence somewhere in my soul. The little flame inside my chest has burned out. Someone singed the candle flame. I reach inside to find it, to make sure it hasn’t hidden somewhere, but it has gone out. It is over. It is gone. I am only half of me, some strange soul cramped in another’s body. Without my magic, I am no longer whole. I pull my knees up to my chest and lay my head on them. I don’t even look at the dank room that I’m kept captive in. I let out all my feelings of dark and cold and captivity. The tears steam out of my empty, purple eyes. I can’t even taste the salt. I just cry.


Purple Eyes
“Move her!” The noise comes suddenly, slashing my memories of practicing, watching. “I said, move her! She is useless.”
Two men in black suits lift me up. I flop like a rag doll. I am empty. I don’t care. Don’t care about Edmond, about the men, about anything. I fall into my dreams as they carry me to the outside.
I fall. They have dropped me. I don’t like to be dropped. I raise my left hand. My clear, sweet voice pours from my lips. Nothing happens. Why does nothing happen? Why is there no breeze to make the men trip and fall themselves? Why?
Then I remember. It is gone. The power has left me. I fall again, the men smirk, and leave me there. I sit in shock, as if I have found it out all over again.
“Hey, ya’ lost?” A boy squats down beside me. He is no more than fifteen, my age.“You lost?” he asks again. I try to answer, but I start to cry. I really am empty, but I must be myself. I must cope.
“Yes,” I manage to mumble.
“Hey, stop crying. What’s wrong?” He rests his hand under my chin. As he sees my eyes, his own green ones widen, but he doesn’t say anything. “Come here, come on.”
“Alright.” I smile as he keeps staring into my deep purple eyes.
He can’t resist. “You have purple eyes,” he blurts out, stating the obvious.
“Yes, I do.”
“They’re pretty,” he whispers.
Pretty? No one ever says that.
The boy blushes. “Come on, I’ll take you where you can lay that sad head of yours.” He hesitates. “I’m Mica.”

Ahh, young love.

Saturday, November 21, 2009

the facts of life

“I want shields for the innocent,
Strength for the small,
I would like hope for the weary,
And love for us all.
If we can’t see past our differences,
Hide them from sight,
So there will be peace for the children
On this Holiday night.” 

           —The song “Gifts for the World”
Our world is so beautiful, such a wonderful place, so full of sadness. War. Suffering. When I look back on our history, it makes me cry. All we need are
And Woven Hope

Woven Hope

Cherished by your soul
The last to die
A candle
Flickering on
Hidden away
Until it is needed
When the fire comes
When the loved ones
Are gone
That spark
Still burns within you
The music of rage
Mingle with the tears
Of what is to come
Holding on to
The last of painful memories
Searching inside
For that tug
That pull of the loom
Weaving into you
What saves you
From your fears
As you sleep
Your dreams find you
Your last
Woven hope

I have a challenge for you.
Put all you can into making your life and the lives of those around you more beautiful.
Laugh. Love. Give.
Live life to the fullest—there’s only this, only here, only now.
Find your own woven hope.
Tell the truth, tell others.

Monday, November 16, 2009

more on mars

Sick today. This time, though, it's more than...
Sore throat. Ackkk! Igg! Mumble.
I'm sure you want to know what happened at school. The aliens, you know. Ha-ha. I can stall for as long as I want. Hee-hee. (I get either really evil or sweet like honey when I'm sick, now I'm evil. Mwa-ha-ha-ha!)

Oh!! My house smells so good! My housemate loves to cook. He just made chocolate-chip cookies. They smell really good, although I haven't tried them yet. Yummy!

Fine. I feel your pain. I'll start just about where I left off.

The Day I Met an Alien...
...I learn why when we all go to Homeroom. The second my classmates and I walk in, we scream in horror. Our Homeroom teacher, Mrs. Sesber, is a very sweet and nice old lady. Now, her skin is blue, and snow white gills, too bright to look at, flap from her ears like a fish. She also wears an outfit like someone in private school twenty years ago. Apparently, she thinks we all should, too. Mrs. Sesber (if I can even call her that) starts lecturing and yelling at us in a high, squeaky voice like a mouse shouting at the top of its lungs, unpleasantly, except louder. It's not pretty. For the entire fifteen minutes of Homeroom, my class cowers in our seats. Some cover their ears, while others scream themselves, although they do it with terror.
When we can finally leave that room, we all rush to the principal's office an knock on her door to tell he that an alien is in the school. She walks out, and we forget our message and run away. Our principal is an alien, too! We barely had time to look at her, but I think one glance at her warty, pink, fingernails told us the truth.
After that, we mill about in the hall, too afraid to go to Science, our next class. I am reading a book when Jo-Ann suddenly shouts, at the same time that the bell rings for us to switch classes, "Kelsey, RUN!" I look up automatically and see another alien. This one isn't scary, though. She has a normal skin tone, but I can tell it has a tint of green. Her lavender hair is piled on her head in a fancy bun. She wears a 60's yellow prom dress, which looks amazing on her. Before she even tells us our name, I recognize this as my favorite teacher, our Math teacher. He name is Mrs. Elsie, and she is so nice. She walks up to us and says,
"You are late for Math, children. I will explain everything to you there." She walks toward our Math class and we obediently follow her, hypnotized, until we get to the room. When we sit down she does explain everything.
"Children, this is why all your teachers are looking and acting so different today. They are really and truly aliens. You are really and truly aliens, I am really an alien, they are really aliens, but I will explain this in detail soo--"
"Yes, I knew it!!" shouts a boy named Harold, and we all laugh.
Mrs. Elsie chuckles, then continues, "I'll explain it soon. Your teachers have just chosen to show you our true forms. We should have warned you, but do not get scared, we will all be normal tomorrow, we just wanted you to know. Now, who knows what 235 multiplied by 6 is?" I raise my hand immediately.
The teachers all become their human selves again the next day. We have a wonderful day, and life goes on, but we all know a little secret.
Happy ending! So sweet! Now I'm going to get one of those cookies.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

the martians are coming!

Announcer: This holiday season, the Martians will be coming to your very own school!
Person: Run for your lives!
Person: Help...[faints]
Kelsey: I'll attempt to recount the day.
The Day I Met an Alien
Dear Diary,
This would be the day that I met several aliens:
I get out of bed, rubbing my eyes. What a strange dream, I think. I dreamt that my teachers actually turned into aliens. How strange. I mean, I know there are lots of kids who think their teachers are aliens, but I'm so not one of them. I'm a really smart kid, and I love school and all my teachers. When I grow up, I even want to be a math teacher. So why I had a dream like that, I don't know.
The yellow school bus screeches at my stop. With my bag slung over my shoulder, and my lunch box swinging from my palm, I get on the bus. Everything seems normal. Perfectly normal. I forget my dream almost automatically, sitting next to my best friend, Jo-Ann.
Jo-Ann looks frightened. Her face has a greenish tint to it and her long, thin mouth is folded into a large frown. "What's wrong?" I ask. She starts shaking and tells me that she went to sleep on the bus and had a terrible dream. It was about our teachers becoming gruesome aliens. I remember my dream last night. I don't tell Jo-Ann, but I wonder.
When the bus stops at school, everyone gets off slowly and mills about, not like the usual stampede. I look around and everyone seems sick. So, I ask why. They tell me that they all had a nightmare about some of the worst aliens they had ever imagined becoming their teachers. "Math teacher...was green, pimply monster...purple snakes in her hair...like Me-Me-Medusa," answered a short boy named Roger in a very shaky voice.
"Mr. Giddy," our science teacher, "was dressed like Elvis Presley. He had pink hair and blue teeth. Hi voice sounded like rocks falling on your head, and gave you a headache that hurt just as much," said a girl called Veronica, shuddering. Now I am truly getting sacred. Why would everyone have this weird dream?
I learn why when we all go to homeroom. The second me classmates and I walk in, we scream in horror.

Wow, I love the satisfaction of leaving you hanging. (Evil laugh)

Saturday, November 14, 2009

big cheeks

Remember giant cheeks? (Hint: Look down!)
Yup. That's her.
Rosie doesn't even read yet (although she's starting to, I'm so excited!!), so she can't write great works of art, but I'm sure she will, so I'm writing a story for her. About her.

Baby Butterflies
Rebecca and Penny loved butterflies. They were purple and blue and pink, and they fluttered around their heads. But best of all, when butterflies were little, they were fairies. Rebecca and Penny loved fairies.
They stepped out of the big, yellow bus as she came home from kindergarten. Rebecca was so excited about telling her mom that there was going to be a field trip at school to the Butterfly Garden. Butterflies were her favorite thing in the world, except fairies, of course. The little girls hoped with all their hearts that there would be baby butterflies.
"Becky! Penny! Hey, Sweeties. How was your day?" their mom waved to them from the car.
"Mommy! Mommy! We get to go on a field trip to the Butterfly Garden tomorrow! Can you believe it?" shouted Rebecca, running to her mom.
"Oh, Sweetie, that's great!" Rebecca's mom smiled.
The two hopped into the car. They buckled up and stared out the window, watching carefully for a colorful flash of wings, anticipating the next day.
Rebecca stepped into her place in line as her class waited for the bus to come. She whispered to her sister, Penny,
"What do you think it'll be like there?"
"I think that the butterflies will be so beautiful," Penny whispered back with a sigh. The bus pulled up and there was a mad scramble for seats. Penny and Rebecca sat together in the front row. They waited and waited, staring out the windows.
"We are here!" yelled their teacher. Again, there was a mad scramble to get out. Penny and Rebecca were the first ones inside the big, tropical butterfly room. They ran ahead to see the blues and greens and yellows. They ran ahead to look for tiny wings, tiny flowers. But the girls found nothing. No tiny fairies were to be found. When would they ever get to meet a flower fairy if not now? Penny started to get worried, but Rebecca was convinced that there were fairies here. She ran around the room, towing Penny behind her.
"Come on! They're here, I know it!" she told Penny. They searched and searched until there was only fifteen minutes before the girls had to leave.
Suddenly, Rebecca heard a voice. "Here! Over here! I'm the one with the purple wings!" it said.
"Penny, I heard one!" Rebecca exclaimed.
"Heard what?" asked Penny.
"A flower fairy! Duh!"
"Let's look for it!"
"It's the one with the purple wings!" The girls dashed off in search of their prey.
"Penny, over here!" yelled Rebecca. She had found a flower fairy. Penny ran over to see a tiny winged girl. Her hair was white, with a tint of purple that matched her dark lavender wings.
"My name is Lavender," stated the fairy briskly. "What's yours?"
"Well, my name's Rebecca, and hers is Penny," answered Rebecca.
"Oh, no! That won't do! You have to have proper names. Flower names," corrected Lavender in her tiny voice. "What are your favorite flowers?"
"A rose," said Rebecca automatically.
"Well, mine is a poppy. Like the one's that put Dorothy to sleep," continued Penny.
"Perfect," said Lavender. "Rebecca, your name is now Rose. Penny, you are now Poppy."
"Cool!" they both said at once.
"Listen," said Rose, "could we take you home? We have a very pretty garden and I could set up a room for you."
"That actually sounds nice. I don't like it here much. It's the same every day. People come in, they stare, they go out. But I like you two. There's only one problem, could I take some friends with me?" chattered Lavender.
"Absolutely!" yelled the excited girls, smiling. "We'll take you home."
The End

Rosie's dream life. Fairies! Butterflies!

Funny faces!

Friday, November 13, 2009

making an author out of 6

This will be the one and only post containing a story that yours truly didn't write. I feel alright about that, I guess, but my nieces, Sadie and Rosie, who are Alana's children, desperately begged me to post. But, I mean, how could you resist this?
I know. Adorable. You'll see more of Rosie later.
Anyway, Sadie is a little writer herself. Maybe she'll start her own blog someday...

Ghost Spy... so far
By Sadie C. with very little help from Maia V.
Chapter One
Thunder boomed and lightning flashed. I put my head under the covers. I looked at my clock. It was 12:00 at night. I tried to go to sleep but I couldn’t. I stayed awake thinking. I couldn’t get Mom, Dad or Stacey to be comforted.
I heard footsteps in the hall. I peeked behind the door. Nobody was there. I went to my bed thinking, who could have made those footsteps? I looked out the window. Nobody was there, either. The sun was starting to rise. Soon Dad would have to get up for work and Stacey and I would have to get up for school. Now it was 3:30 in the morning. The same question went over and over again in my mind, who could have made those footsteps?
It was now 4:30. 5:30. 6:30. Time to get up for school. I could hear Dad opening his and Mom’s door. And I could hear his footsteps in the hall. Unlike the footsteps I had heard last night.
All of a sudden I heard my Dad’s voice. “Juniper!”
“I’m coming Dad,” I said. I went into the bathroom and brushed my teeth. I walked to Stacey’s room and opened the door. I walked in and said, “It’s time to get up, Stace.”
She stirred. “I’m coming, Juniper,” she said.
I knew that she was lying. The thing I know is that the most important thing to Stacey is sleeping. But I think it’s plain dumb.
I put on a blue fancy short-sleeved dress and tied the sash at its waist. It was a hot day so I didn’t put on any socks. I put two rainbow strands of beads around my neck and two green butterfly earrings on my ears. Then I braided my hair into two ropes hanging next to my ears and walked down the hall to the stairs. I could smell Mom’s fresh bacon and eggs. Stacey was not there yet. I beat her to the kitchen.

She's six. Six years old. Could you write like that when you were six? I think she's really amazing. Also, I just want to note that the line in bold, my favorite line, was all written by Sadie. Just amazing. I'm dumbfounded.

I swear, she's going to become and author.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

november frost-flu

"Doctor, Doctor, I'm sick! Sick of the cold. today I had to run around to keep myself warm."
"Doctor, Doctor, I'm sick! Sick of sickness. Everyone has a cold. Everyone has the flu."
"Doctor, Doctor, what do I have? How am I sick?"
"Well, you have a serious case of...


Any of you out there have...


too? Too cold! Too freezing!
I had some yummy gingerbread today, though. Alana made it. Speaking of Alana, read her blog. Her gingerbread is so good, that it's a remedy for the incurable...


If you're on of the daring people who wants to bake only the best gingerbread of all time, the most phenomenal gingerbread, I'm sure the recipe will be here soon:
Try the yummyness.
By the way, if you do have...


but you don't want to or don't like to bake the most wonderful gingerbread ever, then this will help cheer you up.
O, Spring-eo! O, Spring-eo! Where for art thou, Spring-eo? Shall I write, or shall I speak at this?
Signs of Spring
Flowers gently peeping up
Like a bird
From a maple
Reaching to the clouds
Ready for adventure
Ready to softly fly
On wings of wind
In the cool
Morning air
Crisp and sweet
The smell of the crocus
Who's flying
Higher than ever before
With me
And looking
For the friends
The signs
Of spring

Just try the gingerbread.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

two tigers

Where did we leave off?
Oh, right, Tilli was lost, and scared, and lonely.

Tilli and a Trillion Stars
Chapter Three
A Trillion Stars
Tilli was scared, very scared. She had wandered off from Lilly Hollow about an hour ago. She had walked and played, not at all looking at her surroundings. Tilli didn't have a clue where she was. She had, as she always did when she went exploring, that she was near Lilly Hollow, which was near home.
While Tilli tried to find her way out of the woods, Tinnia, Daddy Tilnor, and Mama Tilsa were all trying to find their way in. "Tilli! Oh, baby, where are you? Come home!" yelled Mama Tilsa's frantic voice.
"TILLI! Come on!"
"Come HOME!"
"Tilli, oh Tilli, come home!"
They all yelled at the top of their lungs, as loud as they could. The family scared birds off their perches, and ordered the tiny ants to scoot and run wherever they could, in all directions, making way for the stampede of tigers coming through. But no one answered. They searched until it was dark, but they always kept a careful eye on where they were, so they wouldn't get lost.
As the sun set behind the clouds, the tigers were ready to go home, feeling sad and scared. They turned, and, before they took a step, the sky blazed and shone and shimmered and sparkled, and a trillion stars shot across the sky.
"This has only happened once before, right?" whispered Tinnia.
"Yes, dear," answered Mama Tilsa quietly. "An only during the birth of the great, first tiger."

Chapter Four
North, South
At the same time that the sun set and the sky turned black where Tinnia, Mama Tilsa, and Daddy Tilnor were, the sky also turned black where Tilli was. And at the same time that a trillion stars shot across the sky where Mama Tilsa, Tinnia, and Daddy Tilnor were, Tilli saw a trillion stars, too. But when Tinnia, Daddy Tilnor, and Mama Tilsa heard the voice that was deep and booming loud say, "Walk due exactly South, follow this star," at this a huge, white star appeared in the South sky, "and you will find your daughter!", Tilli heard different. She heard a lighter, more softly spoken voice say,
"I am Trillion, the great tiger,"
"The great tiger," whispered Tilli.
"Go straight toward the brightly shining, blue star." Tilli's gaze drifted North, and she saw a dark blue star, "Soon, you will find your parents, then go East, and you will reach Lilly Hollow. Go, before the true night comes! Go!"
Tilli started running to that star in the distance. She ran to find her family.
Soon, Tilli saw a tree that looked a bit familiar. "Maybe I'm getting closer to Lilly Hollow," she whispered to herself. She kept passing more and more familiar places, until she got to the point where she could almost recognize everything she saw.
Meanwhile, Tinnia, Mama Tilsa, and Daddy Tilnor were having a problem. They didn't recognize a thing. But no matter what, they kept going South.

Chapter Five
It turned out that Tilli had been walking next to Tinnia, Mama Tilsa, and Daddy Tilnor for almost ten minutes. Tilli soon turned around to see her family, and they ran to each other, reunited.
After that, when they were all in the living room, drinking hot cocoa, Mama Tilsa announced something.
"I'm going to have a baby!" she said proudly, "That's why I wanted you to come before dinner, I was going to tell you."
Tinnia and Tilli were completely surprised.

In a couple weeks, Mama Tilsa had the baby. Well, actually, babies, she had twins. Their names were Tilila, and Tiloo. They were just as curious as Tilli.
The End

That is how I picture tigers.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

tigers for a 7 year old

How do you describe a tiger?
Many people in vision a tiger chases you and you run at top speed and then it suddenly catches you in it's jaws! That's an answer for some people.
Other people think of house cats. Big, striped, fluffy, cuddly house cats.
Still more see zoo cages or circus rinks.
I see this.

Tilli and a Trillion Stars
A trillion stars shot across the sky during midnight. Everyone everywhere in the world could see those stars. But in one tiny plain, in one tiny country, there was one tiny tiger who saw those stars as he took his first breath, and opened his eyes. His name was Trillion.

Chapter One
Do Tigers Ask Questions?
"Tilli! Come here Tilli!" yelled Tinnia Trillion the tiger loudly.
"Coming, Tinnia, coming," answered Tilli, Tinnia's younger sister, loudly. But, of course it would be a llong time until Tilli came. Tilli was interested in everything and anything. As soon as she saw one single type of bug she had never seen before, she had to be curious. She had to find out more.
Tilli could be interested in the sun. "Why does the sun look red and yellow and orange?" she would ask to her father, Daddy Tilnor.
"Because the sun is hot, very hot, and hot colors are red and yellow and orange," he would answer.
Tilli could be curious about herself. She would ask, "Mama Tilsa, why do we have noses?"
"So we can smell," her mother would answer. "Go and play now."
The problem was, the more Tilli learned, the more she didn't undersand, and the more Tilli understood, she wanted to know more. Tilli would ask questions that everyone knew the answer to. She would ask questions that no one knew the answer to. She would ask questions made up of words she didn't even know. But it was always questions, questions, questions. That's what Tilli was.

Chapter Two
Lilly Hollow
Tinnia waited outside Tilli's little exploring place, "Lilly Hollow". she didn't think it would take Tilli this long. But of course Tilli didn't come out. After fifteen minutes, Tinnia went in to check, just to make sure Tilli was alright. Tilli wasn't there. Tinnia knew Tilli well, and she thought that she had just gone exploring a little in the woods. She'll be back soon, thought Tinnia. I'll just wait here.
But Tilli didn't come. Finally, Tinnia went into the woods to check. "Tilli! Tilli! Tilli, come here!" she called, but Tilli didn't come."Tilli!" yelled Tinnia again as loud as she could. But Tilli didn't come. Tilli was gone.
Frightened and worried, Tinnia ran home to Daddy Tilnor and Mama Tilsa about Tilli. They were just as scared as she was.
Meanwhile, Tilli was exploring deep in the woods and having a marvelous time. She was investigating flowers, poking at bumblebees, and playing with ants. Once, as Tilli was exploring a flower, a trapped bee and come up from collecting nectar and pollen and had stung Tilli's nose. "Ouch!" yelled Tilli.
"Serves you right for trapping me in that flower!" yelled the bee curtly, and he flew away.
It was then, as she was tendind to her nose, that Tilli looked uo and saw her surroundings. She realized that she didn't know where she was.
"Hello!" Tilli called to the bee, to anyone. There was no answer.

Don, don, don!