Blizzard

The ice in the glass clinked as the fruit soaked in brandy floated up to meet my parched lips. Instantly the blizzard like wind outside turned into the lazy waves that crashed onto the sandy Portugal beaches. The stool I was sitting on turned into a beach chair propped lazily in the sand, and the fluorescent lights morphed into the gorgeous sunshine that caressed my body with it's warm rays. It's amazing what memories one glass of sangria can trigger

I let myself come out of my dream world easily. It took only milliseconds to realize that wool socks would never be needed on the beach and that the sun wouldn't really be able to reach any of my skin since I was bundled against the cold that crept into the house. Normally I would try to hold onto the memory as long as possible, reliving my adventures, but not tonight. I let my feet touch back down and I reentered the conversation being held in our kitchen about the new Rogers' tradition. It is Christmas Eve and despite my desires to fly and run, I know where I need to be tonight. Right here in the kitchen that has been a work in progress for over six months, tucked away from the blizzard with two quote-crazy brothers, my parents and a dog ready to give beijinhos at a moments notice.

So I tipped my sangria filled glass and let the memories of Portugal slip away as fast as they rode in, because I was busy making new memories. Memories that might just be brought back to mind next Christmas when we recreate the new Rogers' tradition, or the next time I hear winds from a blizzard, or the next time I hear my family laugh together

Snippets

My heart hurt a little when I made the first cut. If they knew what I was going to do with the purchase they wouldn't have sold it to me, but the deed was exhilarating none the less. I was breaking every rule that I had ever been taught.

The pages flew by and I caught snippets of lines here and there. Just enough to grab my attention and peak my interest, before the exacto-knife took them away. Lines about Darl and Shreve, treachery and wagons, adventures and damnation. Unfortunately they were tidbits of stories and I had a project to finish. Fortunately there are miles of road that are to be eaten up this Christmas. Miles that can be filled with complete line after complete line of Faulkner.

Nothing better than some dark demented irony-filled stories at Christmas time.

a real page turner

I went in just to buy a christmas present. I debated for a few hours whether or not to go in. I had spent too many hours in the place for not enough paycheck. At first the perk of free books kept me pleased, but after awhile I realized a bookshelf full of books wasn't going to help when I moved to college.

I slipped in unnoticed. My boots and hat clashed against the normal black polo uniform. It helped with the disguise.

I snuck around bookshelf after bookshelf looking for the present. After selecting the right gift I yank my dress down, hike my boots up and head in the direction the main desk to pay. I'm prepared for the awkward conversations that will start, when the bookstore employees pretended to actually like other people. Or at least the low-paid hoodlum cafe workers, which I used to a part of.

I get helped by Sue. She was personally my favorite, we go through the usual chit-chat. She asks when I graduate, my plans for the future, and if I'll ever come back.

Then she asks me where I was last summer.

Portugal, I say, researching.

The eyes of all three workers behind the desk shoot up. They are judging me. I'm not a hoity-toity east-sider like they are. I'm not allowed to have adventures like this. I don't have money. I don't belong there.

Despite their best looks, I walked out on top of the world. Because I was out having adventures and saving the world, they just get to read about that kind of thing.

mmm...

I spent the weekend laughing. Not the polite kind of laughing that always comes when you meet new people that you want to like you. It was the ab forming, attention getting, rambunctious laughter that makes you smile days after. The kind that gets you kicked out of churches.

The weekend ended with three words.

A four word response.

Two flashes of a pair of headlights.

And the feeling of a sated perfection.

de.....wait for it...... lightful

P Chem

I have this incessant little high pitched chattering in my head, that goes like this:

P. Chem P. Chem P. Chem P. Chem P. Chem P. Chem P. Chem P. Chem

I've haven't been able to get any right answers for the last 45 minutes, because all I can hear is:

P. Chem P. Chem P. Chem P. Chem P. Chem P. Chem P. Chem P. Chem

So say a little prayer for my grade.....

P. Chem P. Chem P. Chem P. Chem P. Chem P. Chem P. Chem P. Chem

Tomorrow's the day. It's going to be epic.

"The world is too dangerous for anything but truth and too small for anything but love."

These words sting a little, but I'm not ready to put them into action. I'm not ready to be nice.

777

I tend to think about writing stories when I'm trudging home through the cold, or driving across the wide-open nothingness, or in the quiet moments before I'm fully awake when the shower is pouring heat back into my frozen appendages. Often I notice something and will try to make a story out of it. Try to make a connection to something else, something deeper in my life. This tried to happen last night.

The battle lines were drawn and the ground rules laid. It was a battle of epic proportions. My littlest pet shop Go Fish. This wasn't the usual Go Fish game where you match a card with its pair. None of that sissy stuff for us, we played the cut throat game of needing all four numbers before you can lay them down. The rule was, when asked you had to give up all your cards of that number.

The cards were dealt and the game began. Her little girl fingers were full of cards by the third round, but she held on. Actually she dominated. Even when I took advantage of the fact that she held her cards so that anyone could see them, she still won. So I have no hope of being a Go Fish National Champion, what can you do? I personally think i'll live, but my mind still reached for some type of deeper meaning in being beaten by a five year old.

There was no deep meaning. No self-realization, just the simple fact that sometimes you are left with three 7's and no more cards in the draw pile.

Christmas

Her little five year old body pressed apprehensiously against my legs. It was her first time handing out programs she said. She was nervous she said. But this is what you do for Lighting of the Quad.

The people started trickling in and she got her wits about her. Her nearly four foot frame stood bravely in her wool sweater, tight fashionable black leggings and to-die-for pink plaid boots. She was comfortable holding two programs to hand out, no more, no less. The first family approached the door, she took a step away from the support of my legs, stuck her program-filled hand out straight and said...

"Welcome to Christmas"

The smile on my face reached from ear to ear as I realized, you don't need much more than that.