1/3 cup butter
1/3 cup butter shortening
3/4 cup granuated sugar
1 tsp baking powder
1/8 tsp salt
1 large egg
1 tsp vanilla extract
2 cups all purpose flour
1 tbs fresh squeezed lemon
1 cup lemon zest
1/2 cup orange or lime zest
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Minty Fresh
3/4 cup sugar
3/4 cup packed brown sugar
1 cup butter
1 large egg
2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 tsp mint extract
1 tsp vanilla extract
scoop onto baking sheet with an ice cream scoop and place one Ghirardelli mint choclate quare in the center of each. M...m...m...good!
3/4 cup packed brown sugar
1 cup butter
1 large egg
2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 tsp mint extract
1 tsp vanilla extract
scoop onto baking sheet with an ice cream scoop and place one Ghirardelli mint choclate quare in the center of each. M...m...m...good!
Coffee Cookies
not quite as strong as the espresso choclate cookies, but equally as yummy!
3/4 cup sugar
3/4 cup packed brown sugar
1 cup butter
1 large egg
2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
2+ spoonfuls of your favorite ground coffee
one cup of Hershy's chocolate syrup
3/4 cup sugar
3/4 cup packed brown sugar
1 cup butter
1 large egg
2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
2+ spoonfuls of your favorite ground coffee
one cup of Hershy's chocolate syrup
My Idol... <333
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mHWEwf9gqUY
"When Gillian Murphy, as the wicked Odile in Swan Lake, turns the fouettés that hypnotize poor Siegfreid, she doesn’t just turn 32 flawless ones. She inserts so many doubles and triples that the even the most restrained, “I’ve seen it all before” audience roars. Moreover, she jumps like Superwoman and has all the speed and extension a dancer could ever want.
Only rarely do ballerinas attain this kind of technique, but rarer still is the technical virtuosa who can also move the audience with her artistry. Murphy’s got both. She rose through the ranks at American Ballet Theatre in record time, and when its Swan Lake was aired on Great Performances on national television it was she who was chosen to dance the lead. But her talents go beyond the classics; her brilliance in the Balanchine repertory has earned her special praise too. As for her feet (yes, she’s been wearing Gaynor Mindens since she was fifteen), they are, according to the New Yorker magazine “strong as a truncheon, sensitive as a finger”.
Read more...
Gillian Murphy's Pirouette Tips
"Turning is a gift, though it requires a certain dynamic and a certain fearlessness."
Gillian's breakthrough with turns came when she was practicing the Black Swan pas de deux...at age eleven! She was trying to build up to thirty-two fouettés and polish her multiple pirouettes. Her father was watching and explained that centrifugal force would pull her arms away from her body and slow her down. By gradually pulling her arms in while turning, Gilian was able to resist centrifugal force and maintain the tight, compact position needed for fast fouette's and multiple pirouettes.
* Don't move your front heel before you turn.
* Push off with both legs but keep your weight forward.
* Relevé strongly and quickly. Pull up from the back of the leg right under your buttocks to get on your supporting leg.
* Use your spot. Free the head and relax the upper body.
* Good turns come from your work throughout the barre and center, especially from pliés, relevés, and petit allegro.
* You know both a good and a bad turn immediately, and in a bad turn, you know to cut your losses. A good turn feels easy.
* Don't sacrifice form. There's no point to lots of turns without form. In fact, everyone just wants them to stop.
* There's a smaller turning surface when turning on pointe but not much difference in placement. You feel higher off the ground.
* You gain mastery through repetiion–but not repetition of your mistakes. Make sure you practice correctly."
"When Gillian Murphy, as the wicked Odile in Swan Lake, turns the fouettés that hypnotize poor Siegfreid, she doesn’t just turn 32 flawless ones. She inserts so many doubles and triples that the even the most restrained, “I’ve seen it all before” audience roars. Moreover, she jumps like Superwoman and has all the speed and extension a dancer could ever want.
Only rarely do ballerinas attain this kind of technique, but rarer still is the technical virtuosa who can also move the audience with her artistry. Murphy’s got both. She rose through the ranks at American Ballet Theatre in record time, and when its Swan Lake was aired on Great Performances on national television it was she who was chosen to dance the lead. But her talents go beyond the classics; her brilliance in the Balanchine repertory has earned her special praise too. As for her feet (yes, she’s been wearing Gaynor Mindens since she was fifteen), they are, according to the New Yorker magazine “strong as a truncheon, sensitive as a finger”.
Read more...
Gillian Murphy's Pirouette Tips
"Turning is a gift, though it requires a certain dynamic and a certain fearlessness."
Gillian's breakthrough with turns came when she was practicing the Black Swan pas de deux...at age eleven! She was trying to build up to thirty-two fouettés and polish her multiple pirouettes. Her father was watching and explained that centrifugal force would pull her arms away from her body and slow her down. By gradually pulling her arms in while turning, Gilian was able to resist centrifugal force and maintain the tight, compact position needed for fast fouette's and multiple pirouettes.
* Don't move your front heel before you turn.
* Push off with both legs but keep your weight forward.
* Relevé strongly and quickly. Pull up from the back of the leg right under your buttocks to get on your supporting leg.
* Use your spot. Free the head and relax the upper body.
* Good turns come from your work throughout the barre and center, especially from pliés, relevés, and petit allegro.
* You know both a good and a bad turn immediately, and in a bad turn, you know to cut your losses. A good turn feels easy.
* Don't sacrifice form. There's no point to lots of turns without form. In fact, everyone just wants them to stop.
* There's a smaller turning surface when turning on pointe but not much difference in placement. You feel higher off the ground.
* You gain mastery through repetiion–but not repetition of your mistakes. Make sure you practice correctly."
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Links
some really great fashion tips! see: choosing clothes for your body type.
the right hairstyle for your body type.
chosing the right makeup.
DIY french mani/pedis..oh la la!.
painting a flower on your nails
other tips to acheive the perfect manicure.
start your own nail polish co.
nail polish
---M.A.C.
---barielle
---clarins
---opi
fragrances
great for one of a kind, subtle and yummy smelling perfumes. just a dab behind the ears, on your wrists or collar bone should do. mmmm...fragrance oils ;-)
homemade facial scrubs
---oatmeal and herb
---sugar, orange yogurt, cornmeal and wheatgram
---orange, rose, honey and sandalwood
---autumn apple, avocado, banana honey and yogurt, cornmeal, cucumber yogurt, grapefruit, "nourishing", orange, papya, strawberries and creme
---loads more recipes here!
lipgloss recipes
---candy gloss
---choco gloss
---vanilla gloss
---lemon, orange, or peppermint
everything you need for the perfect spa day/bubble bath
spa goodies
recipes to make your own bath products
-------
daily candy: a very cool fashion newsletter!
kiss and makeup: a great site with tons of makeup tips!
shoewawa: a guide to the most gorgeous shoes on the planet.
product-girl: all the hottest trends in beauty products.
creature comforts: lots of really cute stuff! lol.
the right hairstyle for your body type.
chosing the right makeup.
DIY french mani/pedis..oh la la!.
painting a flower on your nails
other tips to acheive the perfect manicure.
start your own nail polish co.
nail polish
---M.A.C.
---barielle
---clarins
---opi
fragrances
great for one of a kind, subtle and yummy smelling perfumes. just a dab behind the ears, on your wrists or collar bone should do. mmmm...fragrance oils ;-)
homemade facial scrubs
---oatmeal and herb
---sugar, orange yogurt, cornmeal and wheatgram
---orange, rose, honey and sandalwood
---autumn apple, avocado, banana honey and yogurt, cornmeal, cucumber yogurt, grapefruit, "nourishing", orange, papya, strawberries and creme
---loads more recipes here!
lipgloss recipes
---candy gloss
---choco gloss
---vanilla gloss
---lemon, orange, or peppermint
everything you need for the perfect spa day/bubble bath
spa goodies
recipes to make your own bath products
-------
daily candy: a very cool fashion newsletter!
kiss and makeup: a great site with tons of makeup tips!
shoewawa: a guide to the most gorgeous shoes on the planet.
product-girl: all the hottest trends in beauty products.
creature comforts: lots of really cute stuff! lol.
Personal Shopper
I had a personal shopping business a while back (fifth grade)...
I got lots of buisness actually and it was fun!
I got lots of buisness actually and it was fun!
Chibi-fied
My newest idea:
...I love drawing in Adobe Illustrator and the little people I draw are called chibis my friends adore them so I'm going to borrow a neighbor's embroidery machine and make little necklaces for everyone at dance (with themes from our performances). Tres chich!
[Not shown actual size]
...I love drawing in Adobe Illustrator and the little people I draw are called chibis my friends adore them so I'm going to borrow a neighbor's embroidery machine and make little necklaces for everyone at dance (with themes from our performances). Tres chich!
[Not shown actual size]
Dress Up II
This dress was also designed by me in fifth grade for my culmination ceremony....
I feel like Galinda the Good when wearing it! <333
I feel like Galinda the Good when wearing it! <333
Dress Up
A few years ago (fifth grade) I was the co-costume designer for our musical production of Wicked This was one o the dresses I made and designed.
It's a .....Rainbow!
all of the images from my post "colors" compiled into one little video.... ^__^
(Sorry it's so slow....silly Photobucket. ughhh)
(Sorry it's so slow....silly Photobucket. ughhh)
A Girl's Best Friend: Fashion to match your iPod!
Oh! I'm so cute...look at all the "tips and tricks" I came up with! heehee
All images are (c) QE3 and were made using Photoshop 7 iPod fashions these are so cool! style guides that let you co-ordinate your outfit with your iPod. (for some reason, all the clothes seem to be coming from forever21. hrm...though they do have cute stuff! lol) more coming soon!
pink shuffle.
orange shuffle.
green shuffle.
blue shuffle.
grey shuffle.
All images are (c) QE3 and were made using Photoshop 7 iPod fashions these are so cool! style guides that let you co-ordinate your outfit with your iPod. (for some reason, all the clothes seem to be coming from forever21. hrm...though they do have cute stuff! lol) more coming soon!
pink shuffle.
orange shuffle.
green shuffle.
blue shuffle.
grey shuffle.
Celebrity Fashions
Oh! I'm so cute...look at all the "tips and tricks" I came up with! heehee
All images are (c) QE3 and were made using Photoshop 7celeb stealz just saw your favorite celeb on tv and dying to get her outfit? i think i can help...
aly & aj.
brenda song.
hilary duff.
miley cyrus.
vanessa hudgens.
more coming soon!
All images are (c) QE3 and were made using Photoshop 7celeb stealz just saw your favorite celeb on tv and dying to get her outfit? i think i can help...
aly & aj.
brenda song.
hilary duff.
miley cyrus.
vanessa hudgens.
more coming soon!
Kiss and Makeup
Oh! I'm so cute...look at all the "tips and tricks" I came up with! heehee
All images are (c) QE3 and were made using Photoshop 7
makeup tips and tricks. ;-)
lipgloss.
lipgloss tip.
eyeshadow.
finding the right shade of eyeshadow
eyeliner.
mascara.
mascara tip 1.
mascara tip 2.
mascara tip 3.
a tip for girls with red/blonde lashes.
blush.
liquid or powder?
dream matte mouse: my fave!!!
moisturizer/lotions.
hair care: tip 1.
hair care: tip 2.
hair care: tip 3.
no more pimples.
homemade facial scrubs.
high-tech zit zapper.
All images are (c) QE3 and were made using Photoshop 7
makeup tips and tricks. ;-)
lipgloss.
lipgloss tip.
eyeshadow.
finding the right shade of eyeshadow
eyeliner.
mascara.
mascara tip 1.
mascara tip 2.
mascara tip 3.
a tip for girls with red/blonde lashes.
blush.
liquid or powder?
dream matte mouse: my fave!!!
moisturizer/lotions.
hair care: tip 1.
hair care: tip 2.
hair care: tip 3.
no more pimples.
homemade facial scrubs.
high-tech zit zapper.
Colors for your skin tone
Oh! I'm so cute...look at all the "tips and tricks" I came up with! heehee
All images are (c) QE3 and were made using Photoshop 7 finiding the best color for your skin tone.
what is my skin tone?
light skin tones
medium skin tones.
dark skin tones
All images are (c) QE3 and were made using Photoshop 7 finiding the best color for your skin tone.
what is my skin tone?
light skin tones
medium skin tones.
dark skin tones
Ice
Ok so for a while back in fifth grade I was a nerd, and I loved roleplay on Gaiaonline.com...this was one of the stories I wrote based off of a roleplay. I know I wrote much more but I can't find it at the moment.... (c) QE3
It was early, still in the hours before dawn, the feeble rays of light only just reaching the sleepy town, not fully awake from their deep slumber. Ayame, quite awake and alert, sat at her window sill, transfixed by a single speck gliding towards the kingdom on the horizon. She had been awakened by a dream in which an unknown enemy has seized power and the five continents in which she had befriended many a hero turned prone to Darkness and produced in turn, many a villain. The lands turned against eachother, every man for himself. And then...
"Ayame!" She lost her grip on the widow and fell.
Ayame was a shape shifter as it so happens, and, having fallen out of the largest of the palace windows many times before, she effortless shifted to the lightest and most delicate canary a mere seconds before what would have been a fatal impact. She soared back up to her window where a startled looking Tess stood waiting for her. The servant clutched her heart as Ayame entered. "Oi, your Heinous! Why must you always scare me so?" The bird cocked its head to one side and seemed to smirk as if to say, "Why must you scare me so?" Tess appeared to have gotten the message and chuckled. The bird gave a final, lazy flap of its pale wings and Ayame appeared in its place. Tess rushed forward and brushed the odd mixture of dust and ice that had been shaken loose from the top of the window sill when Ayame fell from her delicate hair and pale, bare shoulders and on to the floor. She seemed to have lost her train of thought as she busied herself with straightening out Ayame's silken gown and went to fetch her a heavy cloak to shield her from the ice and sleet swirling into the room from the open window. Ayame watched her with a sisterly love. Though Tess was only a year older than Ayame, the girl had always cared for her like a mother. Tess had found her way to palace's gates one summer evening and had grown on the palace and its inhabitants so fast that they couldn't bare to turn her away. She and Ayame grew up as sisters and though Ayame tried to convince her better of it, Tess refused to be treated then as a princess (and now, like Ayame, a queen). She instead spent her life in the service of Ayame as her lady in waiting and most valued and trusted consultant.
Ayame, lost in thought had completely forgotten why Tess had come in the first place. For a moment, it seemed as though Tess had forgotten as well, as she stared out the window, and a vacant expression crossed her face. As soon as it had crossed her face however, it disappeared, replaced by a look of horror.
"I know about your dream." her voice shook. One of the uncomfortable qualities Tess possessed was that she had a way of tapping in to people's minds. Ayame was the only one who knew of this power though she was quite sure Tess could ready minds other than her own, for she always knew what the latest gossip was, before word reached the streets. Ayame was torn away from her thoughts as Tess grabbed her shoulders forcefully and pointed out the window. The speck Ayame had admired a few minuted before had now grown into a large dragon. A man rid on its back, with an effortless, and eerie ease. He shot fire from his hands, fists raised to the heavens. "Oh god." Tess whispered as he made his way straight towards the palace.
Ayame's eyes narrowed, "Tess, you may be excused." she held back a smirk, trying to compress a note of amusement in her voice. Ayame enjoyed a good challenge. A good challenge which intruders had always proven to be.
Tess clung to her sleeve and let out a whimper.
"I ask you not to tell anyone of our visitor." Ayame spoke as though they were having a good friend over for dinner, not as though a intruder was making his way towards the palace. "There's no need to panic" she said, and with that shook Tess from her sleeve with a gentle push towards the door.
As soon as Tess had left the room, the door closed safely behind her, Ayame spoke again. "I think our visitor, needs a proper welcoming." She licked her lips before transforming again, this time into a great winged wolf. She leapt from the balcony landing silently on the sheets of snow and ice below.
The tall, hooded man, Ayame soon found out, was not intending upon staying for dinner at all, let alone visit the Ice Kingdom. Instead, he was off to the distant sky line of volcanos, among which, lay the Fire Lord's Territory.
He nodded at Ayame as he passed, as if he was no intruder but an old friend passing by. Ayame growled suspiciously and watched him go, before turning back towards the palace's Great Window. She had learned never to doubt her suspicions however, and swiftly turned around. Concealing herself in a tangle of bushes and bramble she watched the man from a far. Once he was a good distance away, she slinked from her bush and began to follow him.
It was early, still in the hours before dawn, the feeble rays of light only just reaching the sleepy town, not fully awake from their deep slumber. Ayame, quite awake and alert, sat at her window sill, transfixed by a single speck gliding towards the kingdom on the horizon. She had been awakened by a dream in which an unknown enemy has seized power and the five continents in which she had befriended many a hero turned prone to Darkness and produced in turn, many a villain. The lands turned against eachother, every man for himself. And then...
"Ayame!" She lost her grip on the widow and fell.
Ayame was a shape shifter as it so happens, and, having fallen out of the largest of the palace windows many times before, she effortless shifted to the lightest and most delicate canary a mere seconds before what would have been a fatal impact. She soared back up to her window where a startled looking Tess stood waiting for her. The servant clutched her heart as Ayame entered. "Oi, your Heinous! Why must you always scare me so?" The bird cocked its head to one side and seemed to smirk as if to say, "Why must you scare me so?" Tess appeared to have gotten the message and chuckled. The bird gave a final, lazy flap of its pale wings and Ayame appeared in its place. Tess rushed forward and brushed the odd mixture of dust and ice that had been shaken loose from the top of the window sill when Ayame fell from her delicate hair and pale, bare shoulders and on to the floor. She seemed to have lost her train of thought as she busied herself with straightening out Ayame's silken gown and went to fetch her a heavy cloak to shield her from the ice and sleet swirling into the room from the open window. Ayame watched her with a sisterly love. Though Tess was only a year older than Ayame, the girl had always cared for her like a mother. Tess had found her way to palace's gates one summer evening and had grown on the palace and its inhabitants so fast that they couldn't bare to turn her away. She and Ayame grew up as sisters and though Ayame tried to convince her better of it, Tess refused to be treated then as a princess (and now, like Ayame, a queen). She instead spent her life in the service of Ayame as her lady in waiting and most valued and trusted consultant.
Ayame, lost in thought had completely forgotten why Tess had come in the first place. For a moment, it seemed as though Tess had forgotten as well, as she stared out the window, and a vacant expression crossed her face. As soon as it had crossed her face however, it disappeared, replaced by a look of horror.
"I know about your dream." her voice shook. One of the uncomfortable qualities Tess possessed was that she had a way of tapping in to people's minds. Ayame was the only one who knew of this power though she was quite sure Tess could ready minds other than her own, for she always knew what the latest gossip was, before word reached the streets. Ayame was torn away from her thoughts as Tess grabbed her shoulders forcefully and pointed out the window. The speck Ayame had admired a few minuted before had now grown into a large dragon. A man rid on its back, with an effortless, and eerie ease. He shot fire from his hands, fists raised to the heavens. "Oh god." Tess whispered as he made his way straight towards the palace.
Ayame's eyes narrowed, "Tess, you may be excused." she held back a smirk, trying to compress a note of amusement in her voice. Ayame enjoyed a good challenge. A good challenge which intruders had always proven to be.
Tess clung to her sleeve and let out a whimper.
"I ask you not to tell anyone of our visitor." Ayame spoke as though they were having a good friend over for dinner, not as though a intruder was making his way towards the palace. "There's no need to panic" she said, and with that shook Tess from her sleeve with a gentle push towards the door.
As soon as Tess had left the room, the door closed safely behind her, Ayame spoke again. "I think our visitor, needs a proper welcoming." She licked her lips before transforming again, this time into a great winged wolf. She leapt from the balcony landing silently on the sheets of snow and ice below.
The tall, hooded man, Ayame soon found out, was not intending upon staying for dinner at all, let alone visit the Ice Kingdom. Instead, he was off to the distant sky line of volcanos, among which, lay the Fire Lord's Territory.
He nodded at Ayame as he passed, as if he was no intruder but an old friend passing by. Ayame growled suspiciously and watched him go, before turning back towards the palace's Great Window. She had learned never to doubt her suspicions however, and swiftly turned around. Concealing herself in a tangle of bushes and bramble she watched the man from a far. Once he was a good distance away, she slinked from her bush and began to follow him.
Roto 911-Racecars and Cheetos Galore!
There was more to this story, another one written in the format of a "zine" (homemade magazine) but I can't find it.... (c) QE3
If you are reading this at the moment let me first congratulate you on how super nice (and possibly batty) you are. It really means a lot to me that someone out there is interested in my life enough to pick up a copy of my zine. But now, if I may ask, how did you come across this strange “fate” to begin with? By any chance are you perhaps stuck in the waiting room of an old dentist with a balding head that shines like a flouresent lamp on its own, who smells like a spoiled Arby’s chicken salad, and has a mole on his nose the size of Utah? If this is the case, I need to talk to my marketing people. (I said only cute, nice smelling, mole-free, female dentists darn it!)
If you are reading this at the moment let me first congratulate you on how super nice (and possibly batty) you are. It really means a lot to me that someone out there is interested in my life enough to pick up a copy of my zine. But now, if I may ask, how did you come across this strange “fate” to begin with? By any chance are you perhaps stuck in the waiting room of an old dentist with a balding head that shines like a flouresent lamp on its own, who smells like a spoiled Arby’s chicken salad, and has a mole on his nose the size of Utah? If this is the case, I need to talk to my marketing people. (I said only cute, nice smelling, mole-free, female dentists darn it!)
Roto 911-Racecars and Cheetos Galore!
There was more to this story, another one written in the format of a "zine" (homemade magazine) but I can't find it.... (c) QE3
If you are reading this at the moment let me first congratulate you on how super nice (and possibly batty) you are. It really means a lot to me that someone out there is interested in my life enough to pick up a copy of my zine. But now, if I may ask, how did you come across this strange “fate” to begin with? By any chance are you perhaps stuck in the waiting room of an old dentist with a balding head that shines like a flouresent lamp on its own, who smells like a spoiled Arby’s chicken salad, and has a mole on his nose the size of Utah? If this is the case, I need to talk to my marketing people. (I said only cute, nice smelling, mole-free, female dentists darn it!)
If you are reading this at the moment let me first congratulate you on how super nice (and possibly batty) you are. It really means a lot to me that someone out there is interested in my life enough to pick up a copy of my zine. But now, if I may ask, how did you come across this strange “fate” to begin with? By any chance are you perhaps stuck in the waiting room of an old dentist with a balding head that shines like a flouresent lamp on its own, who smells like a spoiled Arby’s chicken salad, and has a mole on his nose the size of Utah? If this is the case, I need to talk to my marketing people. (I said only cute, nice smelling, mole-free, female dentists darn it!)
The River
hahahaha! I'm so funny...read this: it was a homework assignment from a while back. (c)QE3
Dear Ms. Moore,
I was unable to complete my homework last night exactly as it was assigned, simply because, if it was me I would never had lost my shoe in the first place. Unlike poor Rhodophis, I wouldn’t have been intimidated by the other servant girls, and I would have gone to the ball with my head held high no matter what.
The three servant girls poled their raft around the bend in the river without giving Rhodophis a backwards glance. Rhodophis, the last and loneliest servant girl, bent back on her haunches and gazed upon her reflection in the water. A single tear danced its way down her cheek and splashed into the water. Rhodophis laughed at herself and stood up. “Look at me!” she exclaimed, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hands. “This is exactly the way Kipa and her friends expected me to behave. While they are off feasting and dancing with our pharaoh, I am left here to weep in the dirt.” She turned her attention to the basket of laundry she was expected to wash and fold. “Well, we’ll see about that.” She muttered. On top of the pile was the beautiful linen dress that belonged to her master’s daughter. The dress was as white as the Nile was blue, or the deserts were gold. She fingered the fabric in her hands, and held it up to her chest. The fabric fell almost to the ground, and she had to hold up the skirt so as to not drag it in the silt. “Wash the linen,” she sang to herself. That was what she had been asked to do. She bent down to the water and began to scrub gently at the pure white linen dress.
Once this task was finished, she slipped behind the servant’s quarters and changed out of her rags and into the beautiful dress. Watching the skirt sway in the wind as she walked, Rhodophis made her way to the lush gardens. “Weed the gardens.” Finding her way among the many flowers that grew there, she danced to the plot of land where the lotus flowers grew. She carefully selected the loveliest flower she could find. In full bloom, it matched the rosy gold of her slippers. She tied her hair back from her face in an elegant bun with a long strip of linen, and placed the flower delicately atop it.
“Grind the grain.” Rhodophis, realizing her hunger, hurried off to the kitchens. “I have no time to grind grain if I ever want to see the pharaoh!” She eyed the already made biscuits stacked in a pyramid on the counter. “I’m sure no one would miss one or two,” she whispered, pocketing her small lunch.
Luckily, Rhodophis and the other servant girls worked less than five mile from the pharaoh’s palace. The party was scheduled to begin in one hour, and being a good runner Rhodophis thought she could make it just in time. She threw a long travelers coat on over her dress and drew the hood up over her eyes. She didn’t want to be recognized by anyone along the way. Eager to get started, Rhodophis forgot to remove her red leather shoes…
She arrived at the palace gates just in time. Under the cover of a cluster of palm trees, Rhodophis slipped off her robe and hurriedly ate her remaining biscuit. (She had eaten the other one along the way.) Stepping out from behind the trees she was thrust into a crowd of people of all classes—from noblemen to slaves and pheasants such as herself—and was pushed and shoved through the palace gates. The crowd was led into a large antechamber and then on to the palace’s ballroom to the right, or banquet hall to the left. Here the crowd thinned out as people chose either to dance or feast. Recognizing the other servant girls gorging themselves in the banquet hall, Rhodophis decided she fancied a dance. As she stepped through the carved stone doors, a hand was offered to her.
“Would you like to dance?” a kind voice offered. Shy around men, Rhodophis accepted humbly but kept her eyes on the ground throughout the dance. When the song ended, Rhodophis made to pull away but the firm hands held her where she was. “Another?” the voice asked.
Rhodophis danced all through the night with her mysterious admirer. As the clock chimed twelve, he led her outside to the palace gardens. Only under the moonlight, away from the crowds and din of the ballroom, did Rhodophis dare to look into his face. She started and stepped backwards. It was the pharaoh!
He laughed, offering her his hand, “My name is Amasis.” Rhodophis’s mouth dropped open out of shock. After a long moment, when she finally remembered to bow, she tripped clumsily over the hem of her long dress. There, glinting in the moonlight, a red leather slipper could clearly be seen.
“Rhodophis?” She spun around quickly. Kipa and a few of the other servant girls were headed her way. She hadn’t even noticed them come into the ballroom! “Rhodophis! Come here this instant!” Kipa shrieked, stamping her foot. But they had surely noticed her.
Rhodophis turned to Amasis, “I have to go. Thank you,” she remembered to bow this time before hurrying off down the dusty dirt road.
In the dark she strayed slightly from the path and her foot found its way into a muddy puddle. Her slipper stuck in the mud, but she had no time to go back for it now…
Dear Ms. Moore,
I was unable to complete my homework last night exactly as it was assigned, simply because, if it was me I would never had lost my shoe in the first place. Unlike poor Rhodophis, I wouldn’t have been intimidated by the other servant girls, and I would have gone to the ball with my head held high no matter what.
The three servant girls poled their raft around the bend in the river without giving Rhodophis a backwards glance. Rhodophis, the last and loneliest servant girl, bent back on her haunches and gazed upon her reflection in the water. A single tear danced its way down her cheek and splashed into the water. Rhodophis laughed at herself and stood up. “Look at me!” she exclaimed, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hands. “This is exactly the way Kipa and her friends expected me to behave. While they are off feasting and dancing with our pharaoh, I am left here to weep in the dirt.” She turned her attention to the basket of laundry she was expected to wash and fold. “Well, we’ll see about that.” She muttered. On top of the pile was the beautiful linen dress that belonged to her master’s daughter. The dress was as white as the Nile was blue, or the deserts were gold. She fingered the fabric in her hands, and held it up to her chest. The fabric fell almost to the ground, and she had to hold up the skirt so as to not drag it in the silt. “Wash the linen,” she sang to herself. That was what she had been asked to do. She bent down to the water and began to scrub gently at the pure white linen dress.
Once this task was finished, she slipped behind the servant’s quarters and changed out of her rags and into the beautiful dress. Watching the skirt sway in the wind as she walked, Rhodophis made her way to the lush gardens. “Weed the gardens.” Finding her way among the many flowers that grew there, she danced to the plot of land where the lotus flowers grew. She carefully selected the loveliest flower she could find. In full bloom, it matched the rosy gold of her slippers. She tied her hair back from her face in an elegant bun with a long strip of linen, and placed the flower delicately atop it.
“Grind the grain.” Rhodophis, realizing her hunger, hurried off to the kitchens. “I have no time to grind grain if I ever want to see the pharaoh!” She eyed the already made biscuits stacked in a pyramid on the counter. “I’m sure no one would miss one or two,” she whispered, pocketing her small lunch.
Luckily, Rhodophis and the other servant girls worked less than five mile from the pharaoh’s palace. The party was scheduled to begin in one hour, and being a good runner Rhodophis thought she could make it just in time. She threw a long travelers coat on over her dress and drew the hood up over her eyes. She didn’t want to be recognized by anyone along the way. Eager to get started, Rhodophis forgot to remove her red leather shoes…
She arrived at the palace gates just in time. Under the cover of a cluster of palm trees, Rhodophis slipped off her robe and hurriedly ate her remaining biscuit. (She had eaten the other one along the way.) Stepping out from behind the trees she was thrust into a crowd of people of all classes—from noblemen to slaves and pheasants such as herself—and was pushed and shoved through the palace gates. The crowd was led into a large antechamber and then on to the palace’s ballroom to the right, or banquet hall to the left. Here the crowd thinned out as people chose either to dance or feast. Recognizing the other servant girls gorging themselves in the banquet hall, Rhodophis decided she fancied a dance. As she stepped through the carved stone doors, a hand was offered to her.
“Would you like to dance?” a kind voice offered. Shy around men, Rhodophis accepted humbly but kept her eyes on the ground throughout the dance. When the song ended, Rhodophis made to pull away but the firm hands held her where she was. “Another?” the voice asked.
Rhodophis danced all through the night with her mysterious admirer. As the clock chimed twelve, he led her outside to the palace gardens. Only under the moonlight, away from the crowds and din of the ballroom, did Rhodophis dare to look into his face. She started and stepped backwards. It was the pharaoh!
He laughed, offering her his hand, “My name is Amasis.” Rhodophis’s mouth dropped open out of shock. After a long moment, when she finally remembered to bow, she tripped clumsily over the hem of her long dress. There, glinting in the moonlight, a red leather slipper could clearly be seen.
“Rhodophis?” She spun around quickly. Kipa and a few of the other servant girls were headed her way. She hadn’t even noticed them come into the ballroom! “Rhodophis! Come here this instant!” Kipa shrieked, stamping her foot. But they had surely noticed her.
Rhodophis turned to Amasis, “I have to go. Thank you,” she remembered to bow this time before hurrying off down the dusty dirt road.
In the dark she strayed slightly from the path and her foot found its way into a muddy puddle. Her slipper stuck in the mud, but she had no time to go back for it now…
Memories
A poem written October 12, 2006 (c) QE3
I was out by my pool and there was a horse rac going on at the stables down the street......
The leaves nearly as big as my feet
size five to be exact.
A small size for a girl my age
as seen in the eyes of my peers,
and yet,
a Leaf as broad and tall
as any Leaves would ever amount to be.
The Pool is filled with them
smaller ones, too,
little pricks of pine leaves
like so many slates and shards of glass
dancing to the beat of the gods,
to Artemis,
upon the cool, rippling surface.
More leaves now.
More dancers in the rhythmic pulse of the forest,
a reflection upon the water
of the very hearts of the trees around the Pool.
I remember the years of my younger childhood,
of the forests and streams,
the wood folk and faeries I expected to find hidden under every bend,
behind every tree in my own back yard.
To this day I still hope to catch a glimpse of the mysterious dryads,
to talk to the trees as little English girls do in my books.
The earthen smells and warm air bring back the very feel of Kentucky.
I can see the horse stables and hear the thundering of hooves,
like living a memory.
My lungs take in the dense, humid air,
as my own heart joins the beating of Artemis’s drum.
I was out by my pool and there was a horse rac going on at the stables down the street......
The leaves nearly as big as my feet
size five to be exact.
A small size for a girl my age
as seen in the eyes of my peers,
and yet,
a Leaf as broad and tall
as any Leaves would ever amount to be.
The Pool is filled with them
smaller ones, too,
little pricks of pine leaves
like so many slates and shards of glass
dancing to the beat of the gods,
to Artemis,
upon the cool, rippling surface.
More leaves now.
More dancers in the rhythmic pulse of the forest,
a reflection upon the water
of the very hearts of the trees around the Pool.
I remember the years of my younger childhood,
of the forests and streams,
the wood folk and faeries I expected to find hidden under every bend,
behind every tree in my own back yard.
To this day I still hope to catch a glimpse of the mysterious dryads,
to talk to the trees as little English girls do in my books.
The earthen smells and warm air bring back the very feel of Kentucky.
I can see the horse stables and hear the thundering of hooves,
like living a memory.
My lungs take in the dense, humid air,
as my own heart joins the beating of Artemis’s drum.
Apple Seed
Ok this story was inspired by the mountains by my home, I love it and promise to finish it later! It hasn't gotten to any of the action yet but it will, trust me....
Idea: There’s a girl living in th 20th century. Her mother has grown old and blind with lonliness. one day while walking through an orchard she meets a boy (nymph? fae?) who tries to persuade her to “step through the stone” and join him away from all of her worries. The girl who is deeply depressed pushes him away. before he parts he gifts her with a peculiar looking stone…(oh and sorry for the typos! i never got around to spell-checking everything... o__O )
(c) 5-27-07 QE3
Anna lost her footing on a small, grey, stone; etched and weathered from the water that had flowed across her family’s woods long ago. She tumbled into the river bed that, like the very fire that fueled her soul, had dried up long ago. She watered the ground with her tears, before picking up her skirts and running blindly into the woods yet again.
She slowed; found herself winding down the wide path to the orchard. A path that on sunny days, she and her father would travel. Sometimes making the long journey on foot, walking hand in hand towards the rising sun, tanning their shoulders and warming their faces. Often times, they would ride their horses to the orchard. Racing and jumping logs in the forest. Anna felt she could still see the hoof prints, longed for the voice of her father----the smell of the ocean and the saltiness of her tears mingled and she rushed to the orchard, to Grandfather.
Grandfather stood old and worn, his branches gnarled and torn as they were seemed to bend and reach for her as if pulling her into a hug as she approached. She sat at his base, burying her heavy head in her skinny arms. Anna could have sworn that the old tree’s heart was beating in harmony with her own. Their breath strained and shaky; from tears and old age. The Grandfather had been around for three generations. Her grandfather had planted it nearly a 100 years before, and from that single apple seed had spawned the entire orchard. Still, as old as the Grandfather was, his apples were still the healthiest, most colorful in all the orchard. They were also the most special. Whether the tree was old and confused or whether he contained some kind of magic, they could be in the middle of a cold spell, a frosty winters night, and Anna would wake up to a new crop of apples, healthy and alive, the next morning.
As unpredictable as he was, the tree was one of the last things in her life that was steady. His apples, Gifts as Father had called them, never failed to turn up at one point or another. He was always close to home, and even closer to her heart. It wasn’t like he could just pick up his roots and walk out of her life like so many of the ones she loved had.
As an only child, her father had been her best friend growing up. He was young and handsome, with a kind voice, a hearty laugh, and a growing appetite for fun. Living in the canyons as they did, the family didn’t have many neighbors, which meant not many playmates her own age for Anna. But her father truly was a kid at heart and he was the best friend she had ever had. Until the summer she was nine, the two had been inseperable. They shared a bond so strong, to which noneother could come close to in compare. The two loved to go exploring in the woods, pretending he was Lewis or Clark, and she was the beautiful Poccahontas. They often spent long days at the beach or hiking to the top of the mountain. A secret ledge from which you could see the entire canyon and well out in the west to the ocean and beyond and in the east to a small town. Looking down they could see their small, humble house. They would sometimes carefully dangle their feet over the edge. “Just don’t fall,” her father would say, “If you do, as much as it breaks my heart I can’t catch you.” That was the one thing that irked her about her father, as close to her as he was, as much as she loved him, he was only human. And she felt a special singing in her, a calling for the unnatural and unexplainable. The two things her father was afraid of, and couldn’t give her.
The summer she was nine her father went looking for a new kind of adventure, he went to join the military, against Anna and her mother’s strained protests. He was a man of determination though, and they could not change him, hard as they tried. His leaving tore the family to shreds.
Anna’s mother and father had met when they were fifteen, and been madly in love from the start. They had both come from broken, unhappy families. Unwilling to be caged birds any longer, the young couple moved away from the town where their families had lived for nearly six generations and built a little house in the canyons. The house sat on William’s father’s land. Though in truth, Annas grandfather had not visited the land since planting the apple trees as a boy, 100 years ago. The house was finished the year Melinda turned 17. Built by William from the ground up, the house had two bedrooms, a kitchen, sitting room, and small parlor. For a while, only one of the bedrooms was used. Then, not a year after the couple finished their house, Melinda found she was with child. Nine months later, Anna was born. Melinda, who had been nearly as adventurous as her husband was, settled into a more conservative lifestyle with the birth of her daughter. She became a poet and a painter, teaching her daughter to enjoy the beauty and quiet of their woods. William on the other hand, sought adventure, and purposely made all the noise he could when tending their garden, or the orchard, or simply on a walk. While Melinda perfered to sit quietly, William loved to go traipsing through the woods, collecting frogs and snakes and causing havoc. When he decided he was tiring of the quiet life, he went to town looking for a new adventure.
Anna and her mother had been catching fireflys out back, and the porch was covered in them. Two or three in a little glass jar adorned the yard every foot or so, along the ground, and settled on tree branches. Anna ran to him, excited to show him her new friends. mother ran to, asking him where he had been and showing him the painting she was working on of Anna. He hugged them both, but it was a stiff hug because of the funny garments he was wearing. There was a long sleeved shirt and trousers as many would wear. The fabric though was stiff and strong, and the dark green jacket held fast to her father’s chest and arms. Along his shoulders were funny little pads, and from them dangles golden tassels. Along the front of his jacket had been sewn several large brass buttons. He held himself high and spoke importantly. Anna giggled at how grown up her father sounded. He ushered her and her mother to the porch. Anna sat obediently, fidgeting with a dandelion stem while he spoke with her mother. She stood just as stiffly as he, and stared hard into his eyes. His loud, important voice crescendoed to a whisper. His eyes seemed sad, though his whisper was strong. He talked for a minute, and Mother listenened. He paused. Apologized. Mother doubled back into her painting chair. He took her hand and talked a little more. He motioned to Anna to sit on his knee. He told her he was going to play a new game now. But this one she was not allowed to join. He was protecting her, he said. As this was a game no one should ever be forced to play. Anna laughed, at the thought of a game that was no fun to play. Her mother only cried. Anna was nine at the time and didn’t understand why her father was acting the way he was. He kept apologizing to Anna and her mother, but he said he felt he was doing what was best for the family. He cried a little too.
Later that night, Anna lay awake. She had released all the fireflys but one from their glass cocoons. The last of her new friends buzzed happily in his jar on Annas bedside table. It was late, the summertime sun had gone to sleep nearly three hours ago, but Anna was far from tired.
She could hear her parents fighting from the other room. She heard them make up, and heard them fight and cry again. Anna was confused. Was Mother upset that father had bought new clothes? It was true she often fashioned clothes for the family, but she never seemed to fancy the chore. Perhaps it was the money, had the clothes been expensive? Maybe she was embarrassed for Father, he did look rather ridiculous. Anna laughed to herself.
her mother cam and sat on the side of her bed. She stroked Anna’s hair and
Idea: There’s a girl living in th 20th century. Her mother has grown old and blind with lonliness. one day while walking through an orchard she meets a boy (nymph? fae?) who tries to persuade her to “step through the stone” and join him away from all of her worries. The girl who is deeply depressed pushes him away. before he parts he gifts her with a peculiar looking stone…(oh and sorry for the typos! i never got around to spell-checking everything... o__O )
(c) 5-27-07 QE3
Anna lost her footing on a small, grey, stone; etched and weathered from the water that had flowed across her family’s woods long ago. She tumbled into the river bed that, like the very fire that fueled her soul, had dried up long ago. She watered the ground with her tears, before picking up her skirts and running blindly into the woods yet again.
She slowed; found herself winding down the wide path to the orchard. A path that on sunny days, she and her father would travel. Sometimes making the long journey on foot, walking hand in hand towards the rising sun, tanning their shoulders and warming their faces. Often times, they would ride their horses to the orchard. Racing and jumping logs in the forest. Anna felt she could still see the hoof prints, longed for the voice of her father----the smell of the ocean and the saltiness of her tears mingled and she rushed to the orchard, to Grandfather.
Grandfather stood old and worn, his branches gnarled and torn as they were seemed to bend and reach for her as if pulling her into a hug as she approached. She sat at his base, burying her heavy head in her skinny arms. Anna could have sworn that the old tree’s heart was beating in harmony with her own. Their breath strained and shaky; from tears and old age. The Grandfather had been around for three generations. Her grandfather had planted it nearly a 100 years before, and from that single apple seed had spawned the entire orchard. Still, as old as the Grandfather was, his apples were still the healthiest, most colorful in all the orchard. They were also the most special. Whether the tree was old and confused or whether he contained some kind of magic, they could be in the middle of a cold spell, a frosty winters night, and Anna would wake up to a new crop of apples, healthy and alive, the next morning.
As unpredictable as he was, the tree was one of the last things in her life that was steady. His apples, Gifts as Father had called them, never failed to turn up at one point or another. He was always close to home, and even closer to her heart. It wasn’t like he could just pick up his roots and walk out of her life like so many of the ones she loved had.
As an only child, her father had been her best friend growing up. He was young and handsome, with a kind voice, a hearty laugh, and a growing appetite for fun. Living in the canyons as they did, the family didn’t have many neighbors, which meant not many playmates her own age for Anna. But her father truly was a kid at heart and he was the best friend she had ever had. Until the summer she was nine, the two had been inseperable. They shared a bond so strong, to which noneother could come close to in compare. The two loved to go exploring in the woods, pretending he was Lewis or Clark, and she was the beautiful Poccahontas. They often spent long days at the beach or hiking to the top of the mountain. A secret ledge from which you could see the entire canyon and well out in the west to the ocean and beyond and in the east to a small town. Looking down they could see their small, humble house. They would sometimes carefully dangle their feet over the edge. “Just don’t fall,” her father would say, “If you do, as much as it breaks my heart I can’t catch you.” That was the one thing that irked her about her father, as close to her as he was, as much as she loved him, he was only human. And she felt a special singing in her, a calling for the unnatural and unexplainable. The two things her father was afraid of, and couldn’t give her.
The summer she was nine her father went looking for a new kind of adventure, he went to join the military, against Anna and her mother’s strained protests. He was a man of determination though, and they could not change him, hard as they tried. His leaving tore the family to shreds.
Anna’s mother and father had met when they were fifteen, and been madly in love from the start. They had both come from broken, unhappy families. Unwilling to be caged birds any longer, the young couple moved away from the town where their families had lived for nearly six generations and built a little house in the canyons. The house sat on William’s father’s land. Though in truth, Annas grandfather had not visited the land since planting the apple trees as a boy, 100 years ago. The house was finished the year Melinda turned 17. Built by William from the ground up, the house had two bedrooms, a kitchen, sitting room, and small parlor. For a while, only one of the bedrooms was used. Then, not a year after the couple finished their house, Melinda found she was with child. Nine months later, Anna was born. Melinda, who had been nearly as adventurous as her husband was, settled into a more conservative lifestyle with the birth of her daughter. She became a poet and a painter, teaching her daughter to enjoy the beauty and quiet of their woods. William on the other hand, sought adventure, and purposely made all the noise he could when tending their garden, or the orchard, or simply on a walk. While Melinda perfered to sit quietly, William loved to go traipsing through the woods, collecting frogs and snakes and causing havoc. When he decided he was tiring of the quiet life, he went to town looking for a new adventure.
Anna and her mother had been catching fireflys out back, and the porch was covered in them. Two or three in a little glass jar adorned the yard every foot or so, along the ground, and settled on tree branches. Anna ran to him, excited to show him her new friends. mother ran to, asking him where he had been and showing him the painting she was working on of Anna. He hugged them both, but it was a stiff hug because of the funny garments he was wearing. There was a long sleeved shirt and trousers as many would wear. The fabric though was stiff and strong, and the dark green jacket held fast to her father’s chest and arms. Along his shoulders were funny little pads, and from them dangles golden tassels. Along the front of his jacket had been sewn several large brass buttons. He held himself high and spoke importantly. Anna giggled at how grown up her father sounded. He ushered her and her mother to the porch. Anna sat obediently, fidgeting with a dandelion stem while he spoke with her mother. She stood just as stiffly as he, and stared hard into his eyes. His loud, important voice crescendoed to a whisper. His eyes seemed sad, though his whisper was strong. He talked for a minute, and Mother listenened. He paused. Apologized. Mother doubled back into her painting chair. He took her hand and talked a little more. He motioned to Anna to sit on his knee. He told her he was going to play a new game now. But this one she was not allowed to join. He was protecting her, he said. As this was a game no one should ever be forced to play. Anna laughed, at the thought of a game that was no fun to play. Her mother only cried. Anna was nine at the time and didn’t understand why her father was acting the way he was. He kept apologizing to Anna and her mother, but he said he felt he was doing what was best for the family. He cried a little too.
Later that night, Anna lay awake. She had released all the fireflys but one from their glass cocoons. The last of her new friends buzzed happily in his jar on Annas bedside table. It was late, the summertime sun had gone to sleep nearly three hours ago, but Anna was far from tired.
She could hear her parents fighting from the other room. She heard them make up, and heard them fight and cry again. Anna was confused. Was Mother upset that father had bought new clothes? It was true she often fashioned clothes for the family, but she never seemed to fancy the chore. Perhaps it was the money, had the clothes been expensive? Maybe she was embarrassed for Father, he did look rather ridiculous. Anna laughed to herself.
her mother cam and sat on the side of her bed. She stroked Anna’s hair and
Homework o__O
Archaeologist
(c) QE3
I am an archaeologist.
I survey the vast landscapes, so open and overflowing with promise,
like a single piece of the unsolved jigsaw puzzle.
Part of the answer to the nagging questions,
“How did they do that?”
“Who were they?”
“Why?”
A land of promise,
a treasure trove of secrets waiting to be discovered.
I am an archaeologist.
I hear the whisper of the wind on my face,
the shifting of the golden sands beneath my feet.
If I listen hard enough, I imagine I can hear the sounds of the people.
Ancient people.
The children that laughed, thousands of years ago,
the same laugh of the children today: gleeful and careless.
The mothers and elders, their stories told over and over again by the light of a burning fire,
and the hunters, rejoicing from their day’s success among a feast to end all feasts.
I am an archaeologist.
I feel an ache of excitement as I work hard, patiently, and diligently,
sometimes to great discoveries and other times to “no such luck.”
My hands are rough and dusty from the seemingly endless excavations.
My mind is open and excited at the prospect of unraveling a new mystery everyday.
I am an archaeologist.
I see past the worn, harsh deserts and the endless, grassy plains to the promises that they hold.
I try and see the landscapes in the same eyes as the people before me.
I gaze up at the same blue sky,
when I look down, I find myself amidst the same golden desserts they walked upon many years ago.
If I close my eyes, I see the children running,
the hunters sharpening weapons and fashioning tools from animal bone and stones.
Sometimes, I even pretend I am one of these people.
I walk the same paths they walked, I sit around the remains of a fire they’d once used.
I see the world as they would have seen it.
I am an archaeologist.
I take my job seriously, uncovering the objects that will tell the unaltered truth of what life was like long, long ago.
I am a dreamer, a believer.
M y hands are two of the many in the world that are slowly, carefully
piecing together the mysterious puzzle that is early mankind.
(c) QE3
I am an archaeologist.
I survey the vast landscapes, so open and overflowing with promise,
like a single piece of the unsolved jigsaw puzzle.
Part of the answer to the nagging questions,
“How did they do that?”
“Who were they?”
“Why?”
A land of promise,
a treasure trove of secrets waiting to be discovered.
I am an archaeologist.
I hear the whisper of the wind on my face,
the shifting of the golden sands beneath my feet.
If I listen hard enough, I imagine I can hear the sounds of the people.
Ancient people.
The children that laughed, thousands of years ago,
the same laugh of the children today: gleeful and careless.
The mothers and elders, their stories told over and over again by the light of a burning fire,
and the hunters, rejoicing from their day’s success among a feast to end all feasts.
I am an archaeologist.
I feel an ache of excitement as I work hard, patiently, and diligently,
sometimes to great discoveries and other times to “no such luck.”
My hands are rough and dusty from the seemingly endless excavations.
My mind is open and excited at the prospect of unraveling a new mystery everyday.
I am an archaeologist.
I see past the worn, harsh deserts and the endless, grassy plains to the promises that they hold.
I try and see the landscapes in the same eyes as the people before me.
I gaze up at the same blue sky,
when I look down, I find myself amidst the same golden desserts they walked upon many years ago.
If I close my eyes, I see the children running,
the hunters sharpening weapons and fashioning tools from animal bone and stones.
Sometimes, I even pretend I am one of these people.
I walk the same paths they walked, I sit around the remains of a fire they’d once used.
I see the world as they would have seen it.
I am an archaeologist.
I take my job seriously, uncovering the objects that will tell the unaltered truth of what life was like long, long ago.
I am a dreamer, a believer.
M y hands are two of the many in the world that are slowly, carefully
piecing together the mysterious puzzle that is early mankind.
Stories from the Maple Tree
Wrote this a LONG time ago and just found it on my computer today....
(c) QE3 2005
Farm Girl Zine
Stories from the Maple Tree
My name is Patrik O’Harris, I’m fourteen years old and I live in Michigan, about 12 miles west of Saline. There, my parents and older brother enjoy the chaotic life of raising livestock, their award winning pumpkin patch, apple orchard, and the five acre ocean of sunflowers they grow as the main attraction in their small florists shop. I on the other hand take pride in much simpler pleasures: my zine, the big maple tree out front, and Sally Mae, the runt of the litter of pigs who I raised all on my own. It is from her that I get my inspiration, as I write you these letters, sitting in the big maple tree out front, enjoying the quiet serenity of my zine writing.
For the purposes of my zine, I think you should know that I don’t go by Patrik but by Patty. Sally Mae helps me with my writing a lot too, so I decided to include her name in my pseudonym (pen name) therefore creating the name: Patty and Maexxx
As it would probably surprise you to know, I write all this on a typewriter, not a computer as some would assume. I could have a computer, I have a television set, but my parents (and I for that matter) feel that we don’t need tehnolodgy to get by. We have eachother, and our beautifu house, and I have Sally Mae.
It’s not that we’re poor either, we make a lovely sum of money for all that we do, we just don’t feel the need to spend it on computers or cellular phones or fancy cameras. We spend our money on our pigs, or cattle dogs, or on seeds for our orchard. And then we always have some set aside for Christmas Day, and Thanksgiving. Those are our rule-breaker days. On those days we can have anything we want. Take if you will, my television set for example. When do you think I came across her?
Then there’s our feasts. Since we grow our own foods (as I mentioned before we have livestock, apples, and pumpkins, but there’s also, grapes for wine, and wheat for bread, Mama’s vegetable garden, Pa’s chickens, and my Brother, Jimmy’s fishin’ pond.) As you can see we have more than enough food, that’s why we take the majority of it to town and sell it to others who are less fortunate or otherwise too lazy to grow their own. Of course we always save plenty for ourselves, but a little too often the townsfolk get the sweeter batch of apples, or the plumper pumpkin.
But it’s all different on our Celebration Days. For weeks ahead of time my Pa and Jimmy work harder than ever to make sure we have enough food for our feasts and for the town’s. Even I get pulled into the mess. (Not that I don’t help already, of course I do, but this is different.) There’s hundreds of pies to be baked, juices and ciders to be prepared, steaming hot turkeys arriving out of the oven every hour of the day. And oh, I just can’t wait! As Jimmy and I toss and turn in our beds at night the wind picks up the delicious beginnings of the feasts and we fall asleep to dreams of running along a grand gaint’s table like in Jack and the Bean Stalk. There’s so much food to taste and so little time before we wake up!
That’s another thing I love about my simple life: Jimmy. He’s two and 3/4 years older than myself, but he treats me equal. That’s the deal with us, we grew up together, went to school together, and we’ve always been best friends. We find joy in the simpleist things, running through the Sunflower Ocean, riding our horses through the vineyards, climbing the old windmill that sits at the edge of our property where it seems as if you can see the whole world layed out before you if you look from the tippy-top.
That’s on the sunny days. When it rains we have other things to do. We curl up by the fire, and read books or tell stories. Jimmy always has the best stories. I tell him he should make his own zine, but he always laughs and says, “Oh kiddo.” That’s the only time he ever acts the eldest, but I don’t mind.
He has the best stories because he’s been to town much more than I have. He’s seen the people, eaten at all the resturaunts, and even seen a movie or two at the theaters. Of course I’ve probably seen the same ones with my television, but Jimmy says the theater is even better.
My town is like the one is Gilmore Girls. Small, cozy, where everyone knows everyone else. My house is right outside the town. It’s big and grand and has many rooms because my Mama loves children. She and Pa met while they were young, then they had Jimmy and me and we grew up. But Jimmy and I’ve always loved the idea of a little sister or brother and Mama does too, so maybe it’ll happen.
Sometimes, when we’ve heard talk around the town that a child has been misbehavin’ or has run away, Mama will go and invite the child to stay with us for a while. And that child will always say yes, because everyone loves Mama. Though she is young and beautiful, she is also very wise. She is also perhaps the best cook in town. And she can solve problems. “That child may come to us a sour apple,” she says, “But he’ll leave here a perfect angel.”
My Pa is also very young and handsome. He has strong hands and a strong jawbone, but a gentle smile, and loving hug. He is a builder, and he fixes things around town. But what people don’t know is that he is a poet too.
He says that’s where I got my talent. He says I’ve been writing since I could hold a pencil, that’s why he encourages me to write this zine. And every few weeks he takes a couple in to town with him and comes back with the sweetest bundle of roses for me and tells me I’m a big hit with the townsfolk.
---Patty and Maexxx
❁
September 9, 2006-
This week we’ve been busy. School has started up and as we move up in the grades our papers seem to come rushing in even faster than before. I attend Saline Middle, and Jimmy attends Saline High. I wake up early in the mornings because I have to be at school by 7:40 am. Then the last bell rings at 2:33pm and I get to come home again. I have made friends at my school but I miss Jimmy. He goes to a school a little farther away but has the same hours as I do. For some reason though he keeps coming home later and later.
Patty and Maexxx---
September 11, 2006
A very sad day. I’d prefer not to write, but remember and pray.
(As a side note though, Jimmy’s been away all day again and I can’t help but wonder why.)
---Patty and Maexxx
September 14, 2006
I am not happy. I have been in a mood all day and it is not a good mood. Jimmy stayed out til nearly nine o’clock last night with a girl. Not just any girl but Rita Clark. She’s in my grade and goes to my school. We do not get along. She is rich because her grandfather was, I have money because I worked hard for it. She is popular because she is pretty, I am pretty too but no one would ever call me popular. She wears fancy designer names, has two computers, and three television sets. I have nice clothes but they are not designer, I have no computers and only one television set. She has friends, I had Jimmy. Had.
Patty and Maexxx---
September 15, 2006
I talked to Jimmy today, Mama talked to Jimmy today, Pa sat quietly and disappointedly on the couch. Jimmy has been neglecting his chores and sschool papers. He has been seeing this girl too often in my opinion, and “Needs to get his priorities straight” in Mamas. I simply cannot believe him.
---Patty and Maexxx
Setptember 15, 2006—later
Jimmy met me by the fishin’ pond today, I wrote down our converatsion. He didn’t notice.
Jimmy: Hey Patty.
I avoided him. I was writing a poem and frankly, I was very mad at him.
Jimmy: Listen, I know you’ve been upset with me lately and I just wanted to say, you have every right. I’ve been away too often, I haven’t been listening to you, I’ve been. . . preoccupied, to say the least.
Me: Uh, huh.
Jimmy: But you have to understand. She’s amazing, she’s beautiful, smart, nice, and she fell for a guy like me! Me!
Jimmy was practically jumping for joy in his skin right now. I glowered angrily at the pond.
Me: I can’t believe you Jimmy. One girl, who I’ve told you all about over the past few years, How I;ve despised her, how you’ve despised her and all it took was her batting thise eyelashes and you run off with her! Can’t you see what she’s doing to you? She made fun of us so many times, her father takes us for granted. Ecverytime Pa offers a favor he puts him to work like a mule. And Mama, the ridicule she’s been through from that family. All because they’re jealous! So they just get away with saying we’re only “stupid, dirty, farm people” and move on!
I was practically sobbing now. Jimmy looked as if he’d been slapped across the face.
Jimmy: But she’s so pretty. . .
Me: But Jimmy! She’s not! Her face may be but her heart is as cold and cruel as stone. And you just. . . leave us all for her.
Patty and Maexxx---
September 19, 2006
That was it. Jimmy moved out. I have no clue why but he did. He just left. Left for Rita and her stuck-up, high class, computer owning family. Pah! But who am I to judge? If that;s what makes him happy, it should make me happy for him. How bad have I been to him?
On the other hand, how bad has he been to us?
❁
Article I:
What to do if Your Older Brother Starts Dating a Girl Your Dislike
Let’s say that, hypothetically speaking of course, you have a brother. And one day, said brother starts to like a girl you know, and don’t love. Then, against every thought you’ve tried to put into his thick head this hypothetical brother runs off with said worst ememy-girl. What should you, hypothetically, do?
1) Stop using the word hypothetically. And don’t be ashamed! This happens to lots of very important, successful people. Or at least, one little farm girl from Michigan known as Patty and Maexxx. (a.k.a. the writer of this zine)
2) Try talking (and not yelling) to your brother. Tell him you’re hurt by his decision, but you respect him and know that (eventually) he’ll make the right choice. Hint strongly that the right choice is the one you were suggesting all along.
3) Talk to the girl he’s currently with. Who knows, you may find something you have in common (don’t count on it) and become friends (in your dreams!). But still, it’s worth a shot.
3) Let it go. If you really feel this strongly that they weren’t meant to be then they probably weren’t. Sit, back, and relax. Everything’ll be fine.
---Patty and Maexxx
I'm two quarters and a heart down
And I don't want to forget how your voice sounds
These words are all I have so I'll write them
So you need them just to get by
Dance, Dance
We're falling apart to half time
Dance, Dance
And these are the lives you'd love to live
Dance, this is the way they'd love
If they knew how misery loved me
---Fall Out Boy
Comments: Jimmy once got a discman for Christmas and whenever we went to town we’d buy all kinds of CDs, this was one of the first we bought…
The sun’s setting before the day has even began;
the scarecrow snoozing on the job;
and the sunflowers,
precious sunflowers have turned gray and cold
because the world is growing sad, and morning
the depth of your destruction.
Desertion.
Why?
---Patty and Maexxx
Coments: Written the day we got the letter from Jimmy saying he wasn’t coming home but rather running off with the she-witch.
I was at breakfast when it happened. Buttered toast, fresh strawberries, and a ham and tomato omelette. Pa came running into the kitchen where Ma stood fixing his coffee and for herself, a cup of strong tea. He handed the letter first to Mama. She stood wide-eyed with her hand over her mouth.
“What’s happened?” I asked, as horrible thoughts ran through my head. “Where’s Jimmy?” I whispered, more to myself than to Pa and Mama. They exchanged worried glanced, debating over showing me the letter. I stood up in my seat. “Where’s Jimmy?” I demanded, angry and afraid. Mama carefully handed over the letter. Pa gestured for her to join him out on the porch. Mama was holding back tears, I could tell. I held the letter stiffly in my hands. What was wrong? I asked myself, afraid to open the letter and find out.
When I did open it, it read:
Family.
Right away I hated that word. Well, the way it was used. Letters from Jimmy usually came addrerssed “My dearest family”, or “My loving family,” or, “to those whom I love with all my heart.” The single word “family” seemed so business-like and stiff.
Family,
In these past few weeks I have often thought about this, probably it will be the most important decision of my life. It brings me pain to say it,
No, Jimmy. If it brought you pain you wouldn’t have abandoned us. You wouldn’t have abandoned me.
but I fee it is time that I moved on with my life. My life, and Rita’s. I hope you know that we have been dating fr around a month and I cannot tell you o the joys she has brought to me. She is beautiful, smart, and oh so kind. Her parents too have been genr=erous to me in inviting me to stay in their guest house while plans are being made for our engagement.
At this point I dropped the paper right onto the floor. Engaged? Jimmy couldn’t be engaged! He was barely seventeen, and Rita, well. . . Now that I thought about it Rita wasn’t very smart, it was possible she could have been left-back in school. Yes, as I thought about it I did recall her being---18?? Rita was left back three years at least and here Jimmy was practically bragging about how smart she was. An older woman ina younger grade? The thought almost struck me as funny. Almost. I was more, at thius point annoyed. I picked up the letter off the floor.
My dearet, beautiful Rita will soon be 18 as will I. And as I hope you all are not too stupid enough to notice, we will then be aged enough to wed. The though! Me, married to Rita Clark! Excuse me dearly, I meant Rita O’Harris. Anyways, I must say I was discusted with your previous behavior but feel the need to give you all a second chance. Rita dearest and I would love to invite you a splendid brunch this coming Saturday. Please bring the child, Rita tells me they are precious friends.
Sincerely,
James O’Harris
Dearest Rita? Bring the child? Precious friends? Big, angry tears welled up in my eyes. Since when was he “Mr. Proper”? His snotty accent made me sick. And James O’Harris? That wasn’t even his name! His name was Jimmy. That’s what it said on his birth certificate, his license, that’s who he was in our hearts. So who was James? Some snotty, too good for us person about to be married, move out, and forget about us all, that’s who.
Well two could play at that game. I’d jut have to forget about him first.
The only prolem is I didn’t think I could do that. . .
---Patty and Maexxx
❁
Brunch. A snotty time for rich people to get together and make fun of the rest of us during breakfast and lunch. A time for low-carb foods and zero-calorie snacks. Oh, joy.
“Patty, darling!” Rita exclaimed, opening the heavy oak doors the second I had rung the doorbell. “Kiss, kiss!” She chortled, pecking me on each cheek. I flinched only slightly, and managed to continue glaring at her. “Why, oh my.” She looked me thuroghly up and down. “What are you wearing, dear?”
I couldn’t help but look down at myself. I had on a faded pair of purple Old Navy cordoroy jeans, a plain white tank top and crocheted scarf around my neck. I didn’t know what you wore to brunch so I put on something comfortable, is that a crime? I shrugged.
“Oh, well, not to worry. You look fab in anything dear.” She smiled a fake, and disitinctly I’m-better-than-you smile and waved me inside with her hand.
Apparantly rich people didn’t eat breakfast or lunch but combined the two into brunch to cut down on the amount of food they had consume but still left thejm feeling full (“Yet not bloated, so we can still keep our perfect figures.”) There was more but I was so incredibly bored throughout Rita;s speech eventually I just stopped paying attention. I seemed to grasp the main point though: Rita and her rich/perfect family don’t eat so they can maintain their expensive/perfect figures. Even Jimmy refused the last sour dough roll when I passed him the basket! I also heard him telling Pa that instead of doing work around town and on the farm like (I cannot stand him!) “commoners”, he’s now going to the gym four times a week.
I was caught in a spider web of such deep loathing and hurt that I didn’t notice when a small girl, around the age of twelve, maybe thirteen, strode into the room. She she had been doing a good job of making herself scarcely heard or seen until a little ecough, either purposely or not, escaped her throat. Rita looked up, dramatically rolling her eyes. Then she stood up with a smile so big and bright I’d wondered what it was rich people really ate at brunch: Stars? Rita certainly hadn’t touched her food and she had such a large mouth and horesy laugh that for all I know she could have been sucking then out of the sky every time she spoke!
“Casandra, precious! Where have you been? Wouldn’t you like to meet our,” she looked at me and moved her tongue over her teeth as if she had the point of one of the stars she’d eaten still stuck in her mouth. “Our wonderful. . . friends. Jimmy’s family!” she announced, grasping the girl’s shoulders and steering her into the chair across from mine.
“Hello,” I reched out my hand kindly, willing her to shake it. (Or was she one of those “Kiss, kiss!” people?) “My name’s Patrik, I’m Jimmy’s sister.” I pointed down the table at my brother. Then I blushed, of course she already knew who Jimmy was! “You can call me Patty if you’d like.” I offered when she didn‘t respond.
She shook my hand gingerly, “Thank you, Patty. You may call me, Cassie.” Her voice like her hand shake, was gentle and even a little tired, sad.
I wasn’t one of the girls at school who’d just stand around and look people up and down all day critising your outfit or “last month’s shoes” but with Cassie I couldn’t help it. She was dressed proudly, like Rita, but there was something much sweeter about her. Where Rita took too much time getting dressed everyday, Cassie seemed to just put on whatever was in her closet. (Which just happened to be nice.) Rita had thin hair and a bad perm where Cassie had thick hair and long, beautiful curls. Cassie had a very nice smile, and gentle smile lines, Rita had none of the above. Her smile was an I’m-trying-too-hard smile and she had harsh frown lines around the corners of her mouth and the crease between her perfect brows. Both girls were blond, and their eyes were set close together, but somehow both features looked better on Cassie.
Cassie must have seen me looking at her because she responed as if she’d been slapped, “My sister’s the pretty one!”
“What?” I sputtered. Cassie blushed.
“Would you mind coming outside with me?” We already were outside but I didn’t feel like arguing. I nodded, but raised my eyebrow as if to ask, Won’t they noice?
Cassie shook her head, took my hand and led me silently back into the main brunch room, out into the hall, and down a large flight of stairs that I guessed led to the kitchens. She continued to lead me farther and farther away from our families. Outside and towards a tall maple tree, much like my own boardering the edge of the woods.
I expertly swung myself up onto the nearest branch and dangled my feet. Cassie did the same. For the first time I realized that under her crisp, fancy skirt, she had on a pair of faded jeans.
Cassie laughed, shedding her skirt and showing off the jeans in their full glory. She had a nice laugh.
“I’m not like the rest of them,” she said, closing her eyes and leaning her head back on the trunk of the tree. “And you aren’t either. I knew that from the minute I saw you. Rita talks about you, you know. She is jealous, oh yeah!” I liked listening to her talk. Cassie turned towards me her eyes wide and searching. “You know what I want? To be away from all this. To be able to eat what I want, when I want it. To be able to do what I want whenever I want to do it!” she sighed longingly, “But with a life like this. Real happiness, real fun, it doesn’t come cheap.”
“I hate to break it to you Cassie, but nothing in your world comes cheap.” I hated the words the moment I’d spoken them, I’d never meant to insult Cassie. Did I? Would she hate me now?
No, Cassie only laughed. “You’re funny Patty. I like you.” She had her eyes closed again and her head leaned back. I ould see her fighting off a smile. “So tell me, what is there to do for fun at your place?”
So I told her. About my zine, Sally Mae, and the endless sunflowers. And even though it wasn’t caviar and fancy brunches, Cassie seemed really interested. She even asked if she could come over and see one of my zines. I told her yes, and “Cassie, I’ll even put you in one of zines if you want!” At this Cassie was really excited. She promised to come over around dinner time tomorrow.
As I left her house later that day, I couldn’t help but think, Cassie and I could be real good friends.
And you know what, I think we will be.
--- Patty and Maexxx
(c) QE3 2005
Farm Girl Zine
Stories from the Maple Tree
My name is Patrik O’Harris, I’m fourteen years old and I live in Michigan, about 12 miles west of Saline. There, my parents and older brother enjoy the chaotic life of raising livestock, their award winning pumpkin patch, apple orchard, and the five acre ocean of sunflowers they grow as the main attraction in their small florists shop. I on the other hand take pride in much simpler pleasures: my zine, the big maple tree out front, and Sally Mae, the runt of the litter of pigs who I raised all on my own. It is from her that I get my inspiration, as I write you these letters, sitting in the big maple tree out front, enjoying the quiet serenity of my zine writing.
For the purposes of my zine, I think you should know that I don’t go by Patrik but by Patty. Sally Mae helps me with my writing a lot too, so I decided to include her name in my pseudonym (pen name) therefore creating the name: Patty and Maexxx
As it would probably surprise you to know, I write all this on a typewriter, not a computer as some would assume. I could have a computer, I have a television set, but my parents (and I for that matter) feel that we don’t need tehnolodgy to get by. We have eachother, and our beautifu house, and I have Sally Mae.
It’s not that we’re poor either, we make a lovely sum of money for all that we do, we just don’t feel the need to spend it on computers or cellular phones or fancy cameras. We spend our money on our pigs, or cattle dogs, or on seeds for our orchard. And then we always have some set aside for Christmas Day, and Thanksgiving. Those are our rule-breaker days. On those days we can have anything we want. Take if you will, my television set for example. When do you think I came across her?
Then there’s our feasts. Since we grow our own foods (as I mentioned before we have livestock, apples, and pumpkins, but there’s also, grapes for wine, and wheat for bread, Mama’s vegetable garden, Pa’s chickens, and my Brother, Jimmy’s fishin’ pond.) As you can see we have more than enough food, that’s why we take the majority of it to town and sell it to others who are less fortunate or otherwise too lazy to grow their own. Of course we always save plenty for ourselves, but a little too often the townsfolk get the sweeter batch of apples, or the plumper pumpkin.
But it’s all different on our Celebration Days. For weeks ahead of time my Pa and Jimmy work harder than ever to make sure we have enough food for our feasts and for the town’s. Even I get pulled into the mess. (Not that I don’t help already, of course I do, but this is different.) There’s hundreds of pies to be baked, juices and ciders to be prepared, steaming hot turkeys arriving out of the oven every hour of the day. And oh, I just can’t wait! As Jimmy and I toss and turn in our beds at night the wind picks up the delicious beginnings of the feasts and we fall asleep to dreams of running along a grand gaint’s table like in Jack and the Bean Stalk. There’s so much food to taste and so little time before we wake up!
That’s another thing I love about my simple life: Jimmy. He’s two and 3/4 years older than myself, but he treats me equal. That’s the deal with us, we grew up together, went to school together, and we’ve always been best friends. We find joy in the simpleist things, running through the Sunflower Ocean, riding our horses through the vineyards, climbing the old windmill that sits at the edge of our property where it seems as if you can see the whole world layed out before you if you look from the tippy-top.
That’s on the sunny days. When it rains we have other things to do. We curl up by the fire, and read books or tell stories. Jimmy always has the best stories. I tell him he should make his own zine, but he always laughs and says, “Oh kiddo.” That’s the only time he ever acts the eldest, but I don’t mind.
He has the best stories because he’s been to town much more than I have. He’s seen the people, eaten at all the resturaunts, and even seen a movie or two at the theaters. Of course I’ve probably seen the same ones with my television, but Jimmy says the theater is even better.
My town is like the one is Gilmore Girls. Small, cozy, where everyone knows everyone else. My house is right outside the town. It’s big and grand and has many rooms because my Mama loves children. She and Pa met while they were young, then they had Jimmy and me and we grew up. But Jimmy and I’ve always loved the idea of a little sister or brother and Mama does too, so maybe it’ll happen.
Sometimes, when we’ve heard talk around the town that a child has been misbehavin’ or has run away, Mama will go and invite the child to stay with us for a while. And that child will always say yes, because everyone loves Mama. Though she is young and beautiful, she is also very wise. She is also perhaps the best cook in town. And she can solve problems. “That child may come to us a sour apple,” she says, “But he’ll leave here a perfect angel.”
My Pa is also very young and handsome. He has strong hands and a strong jawbone, but a gentle smile, and loving hug. He is a builder, and he fixes things around town. But what people don’t know is that he is a poet too.
He says that’s where I got my talent. He says I’ve been writing since I could hold a pencil, that’s why he encourages me to write this zine. And every few weeks he takes a couple in to town with him and comes back with the sweetest bundle of roses for me and tells me I’m a big hit with the townsfolk.
---Patty and Maexxx
❁
September 9, 2006-
This week we’ve been busy. School has started up and as we move up in the grades our papers seem to come rushing in even faster than before. I attend Saline Middle, and Jimmy attends Saline High. I wake up early in the mornings because I have to be at school by 7:40 am. Then the last bell rings at 2:33pm and I get to come home again. I have made friends at my school but I miss Jimmy. He goes to a school a little farther away but has the same hours as I do. For some reason though he keeps coming home later and later.
Patty and Maexxx---
September 11, 2006
A very sad day. I’d prefer not to write, but remember and pray.
(As a side note though, Jimmy’s been away all day again and I can’t help but wonder why.)
---Patty and Maexxx
September 14, 2006
I am not happy. I have been in a mood all day and it is not a good mood. Jimmy stayed out til nearly nine o’clock last night with a girl. Not just any girl but Rita Clark. She’s in my grade and goes to my school. We do not get along. She is rich because her grandfather was, I have money because I worked hard for it. She is popular because she is pretty, I am pretty too but no one would ever call me popular. She wears fancy designer names, has two computers, and three television sets. I have nice clothes but they are not designer, I have no computers and only one television set. She has friends, I had Jimmy. Had.
Patty and Maexxx---
September 15, 2006
I talked to Jimmy today, Mama talked to Jimmy today, Pa sat quietly and disappointedly on the couch. Jimmy has been neglecting his chores and sschool papers. He has been seeing this girl too often in my opinion, and “Needs to get his priorities straight” in Mamas. I simply cannot believe him.
---Patty and Maexxx
Setptember 15, 2006—later
Jimmy met me by the fishin’ pond today, I wrote down our converatsion. He didn’t notice.
Jimmy: Hey Patty.
I avoided him. I was writing a poem and frankly, I was very mad at him.
Jimmy: Listen, I know you’ve been upset with me lately and I just wanted to say, you have every right. I’ve been away too often, I haven’t been listening to you, I’ve been. . . preoccupied, to say the least.
Me: Uh, huh.
Jimmy: But you have to understand. She’s amazing, she’s beautiful, smart, nice, and she fell for a guy like me! Me!
Jimmy was practically jumping for joy in his skin right now. I glowered angrily at the pond.
Me: I can’t believe you Jimmy. One girl, who I’ve told you all about over the past few years, How I;ve despised her, how you’ve despised her and all it took was her batting thise eyelashes and you run off with her! Can’t you see what she’s doing to you? She made fun of us so many times, her father takes us for granted. Ecverytime Pa offers a favor he puts him to work like a mule. And Mama, the ridicule she’s been through from that family. All because they’re jealous! So they just get away with saying we’re only “stupid, dirty, farm people” and move on!
I was practically sobbing now. Jimmy looked as if he’d been slapped across the face.
Jimmy: But she’s so pretty. . .
Me: But Jimmy! She’s not! Her face may be but her heart is as cold and cruel as stone. And you just. . . leave us all for her.
Patty and Maexxx---
September 19, 2006
That was it. Jimmy moved out. I have no clue why but he did. He just left. Left for Rita and her stuck-up, high class, computer owning family. Pah! But who am I to judge? If that;s what makes him happy, it should make me happy for him. How bad have I been to him?
On the other hand, how bad has he been to us?
❁
Article I:
What to do if Your Older Brother Starts Dating a Girl Your Dislike
Let’s say that, hypothetically speaking of course, you have a brother. And one day, said brother starts to like a girl you know, and don’t love. Then, against every thought you’ve tried to put into his thick head this hypothetical brother runs off with said worst ememy-girl. What should you, hypothetically, do?
1) Stop using the word hypothetically. And don’t be ashamed! This happens to lots of very important, successful people. Or at least, one little farm girl from Michigan known as Patty and Maexxx. (a.k.a. the writer of this zine)
2) Try talking (and not yelling) to your brother. Tell him you’re hurt by his decision, but you respect him and know that (eventually) he’ll make the right choice. Hint strongly that the right choice is the one you were suggesting all along.
3) Talk to the girl he’s currently with. Who knows, you may find something you have in common (don’t count on it) and become friends (in your dreams!). But still, it’s worth a shot.
3) Let it go. If you really feel this strongly that they weren’t meant to be then they probably weren’t. Sit, back, and relax. Everything’ll be fine.
---Patty and Maexxx
I'm two quarters and a heart down
And I don't want to forget how your voice sounds
These words are all I have so I'll write them
So you need them just to get by
Dance, Dance
We're falling apart to half time
Dance, Dance
And these are the lives you'd love to live
Dance, this is the way they'd love
If they knew how misery loved me
---Fall Out Boy
Comments: Jimmy once got a discman for Christmas and whenever we went to town we’d buy all kinds of CDs, this was one of the first we bought…
The sun’s setting before the day has even began;
the scarecrow snoozing on the job;
and the sunflowers,
precious sunflowers have turned gray and cold
because the world is growing sad, and morning
the depth of your destruction.
Desertion.
Why?
---Patty and Maexxx
Coments: Written the day we got the letter from Jimmy saying he wasn’t coming home but rather running off with the she-witch.
I was at breakfast when it happened. Buttered toast, fresh strawberries, and a ham and tomato omelette. Pa came running into the kitchen where Ma stood fixing his coffee and for herself, a cup of strong tea. He handed the letter first to Mama. She stood wide-eyed with her hand over her mouth.
“What’s happened?” I asked, as horrible thoughts ran through my head. “Where’s Jimmy?” I whispered, more to myself than to Pa and Mama. They exchanged worried glanced, debating over showing me the letter. I stood up in my seat. “Where’s Jimmy?” I demanded, angry and afraid. Mama carefully handed over the letter. Pa gestured for her to join him out on the porch. Mama was holding back tears, I could tell. I held the letter stiffly in my hands. What was wrong? I asked myself, afraid to open the letter and find out.
When I did open it, it read:
Family.
Right away I hated that word. Well, the way it was used. Letters from Jimmy usually came addrerssed “My dearest family”, or “My loving family,” or, “to those whom I love with all my heart.” The single word “family” seemed so business-like and stiff.
Family,
In these past few weeks I have often thought about this, probably it will be the most important decision of my life. It brings me pain to say it,
No, Jimmy. If it brought you pain you wouldn’t have abandoned us. You wouldn’t have abandoned me.
but I fee it is time that I moved on with my life. My life, and Rita’s. I hope you know that we have been dating fr around a month and I cannot tell you o the joys she has brought to me. She is beautiful, smart, and oh so kind. Her parents too have been genr=erous to me in inviting me to stay in their guest house while plans are being made for our engagement.
At this point I dropped the paper right onto the floor. Engaged? Jimmy couldn’t be engaged! He was barely seventeen, and Rita, well. . . Now that I thought about it Rita wasn’t very smart, it was possible she could have been left-back in school. Yes, as I thought about it I did recall her being---18?? Rita was left back three years at least and here Jimmy was practically bragging about how smart she was. An older woman ina younger grade? The thought almost struck me as funny. Almost. I was more, at thius point annoyed. I picked up the letter off the floor.
My dearet, beautiful Rita will soon be 18 as will I. And as I hope you all are not too stupid enough to notice, we will then be aged enough to wed. The though! Me, married to Rita Clark! Excuse me dearly, I meant Rita O’Harris. Anyways, I must say I was discusted with your previous behavior but feel the need to give you all a second chance. Rita dearest and I would love to invite you a splendid brunch this coming Saturday. Please bring the child, Rita tells me they are precious friends.
Sincerely,
James O’Harris
Dearest Rita? Bring the child? Precious friends? Big, angry tears welled up in my eyes. Since when was he “Mr. Proper”? His snotty accent made me sick. And James O’Harris? That wasn’t even his name! His name was Jimmy. That’s what it said on his birth certificate, his license, that’s who he was in our hearts. So who was James? Some snotty, too good for us person about to be married, move out, and forget about us all, that’s who.
Well two could play at that game. I’d jut have to forget about him first.
The only prolem is I didn’t think I could do that. . .
---Patty and Maexxx
❁
Brunch. A snotty time for rich people to get together and make fun of the rest of us during breakfast and lunch. A time for low-carb foods and zero-calorie snacks. Oh, joy.
“Patty, darling!” Rita exclaimed, opening the heavy oak doors the second I had rung the doorbell. “Kiss, kiss!” She chortled, pecking me on each cheek. I flinched only slightly, and managed to continue glaring at her. “Why, oh my.” She looked me thuroghly up and down. “What are you wearing, dear?”
I couldn’t help but look down at myself. I had on a faded pair of purple Old Navy cordoroy jeans, a plain white tank top and crocheted scarf around my neck. I didn’t know what you wore to brunch so I put on something comfortable, is that a crime? I shrugged.
“Oh, well, not to worry. You look fab in anything dear.” She smiled a fake, and disitinctly I’m-better-than-you smile and waved me inside with her hand.
Apparantly rich people didn’t eat breakfast or lunch but combined the two into brunch to cut down on the amount of food they had consume but still left thejm feeling full (“Yet not bloated, so we can still keep our perfect figures.”) There was more but I was so incredibly bored throughout Rita;s speech eventually I just stopped paying attention. I seemed to grasp the main point though: Rita and her rich/perfect family don’t eat so they can maintain their expensive/perfect figures. Even Jimmy refused the last sour dough roll when I passed him the basket! I also heard him telling Pa that instead of doing work around town and on the farm like (I cannot stand him!) “commoners”, he’s now going to the gym four times a week.
I was caught in a spider web of such deep loathing and hurt that I didn’t notice when a small girl, around the age of twelve, maybe thirteen, strode into the room. She she had been doing a good job of making herself scarcely heard or seen until a little ecough, either purposely or not, escaped her throat. Rita looked up, dramatically rolling her eyes. Then she stood up with a smile so big and bright I’d wondered what it was rich people really ate at brunch: Stars? Rita certainly hadn’t touched her food and she had such a large mouth and horesy laugh that for all I know she could have been sucking then out of the sky every time she spoke!
“Casandra, precious! Where have you been? Wouldn’t you like to meet our,” she looked at me and moved her tongue over her teeth as if she had the point of one of the stars she’d eaten still stuck in her mouth. “Our wonderful. . . friends. Jimmy’s family!” she announced, grasping the girl’s shoulders and steering her into the chair across from mine.
“Hello,” I reched out my hand kindly, willing her to shake it. (Or was she one of those “Kiss, kiss!” people?) “My name’s Patrik, I’m Jimmy’s sister.” I pointed down the table at my brother. Then I blushed, of course she already knew who Jimmy was! “You can call me Patty if you’d like.” I offered when she didn‘t respond.
She shook my hand gingerly, “Thank you, Patty. You may call me, Cassie.” Her voice like her hand shake, was gentle and even a little tired, sad.
I wasn’t one of the girls at school who’d just stand around and look people up and down all day critising your outfit or “last month’s shoes” but with Cassie I couldn’t help it. She was dressed proudly, like Rita, but there was something much sweeter about her. Where Rita took too much time getting dressed everyday, Cassie seemed to just put on whatever was in her closet. (Which just happened to be nice.) Rita had thin hair and a bad perm where Cassie had thick hair and long, beautiful curls. Cassie had a very nice smile, and gentle smile lines, Rita had none of the above. Her smile was an I’m-trying-too-hard smile and she had harsh frown lines around the corners of her mouth and the crease between her perfect brows. Both girls were blond, and their eyes were set close together, but somehow both features looked better on Cassie.
Cassie must have seen me looking at her because she responed as if she’d been slapped, “My sister’s the pretty one!”
“What?” I sputtered. Cassie blushed.
“Would you mind coming outside with me?” We already were outside but I didn’t feel like arguing. I nodded, but raised my eyebrow as if to ask, Won’t they noice?
Cassie shook her head, took my hand and led me silently back into the main brunch room, out into the hall, and down a large flight of stairs that I guessed led to the kitchens. She continued to lead me farther and farther away from our families. Outside and towards a tall maple tree, much like my own boardering the edge of the woods.
I expertly swung myself up onto the nearest branch and dangled my feet. Cassie did the same. For the first time I realized that under her crisp, fancy skirt, she had on a pair of faded jeans.
Cassie laughed, shedding her skirt and showing off the jeans in their full glory. She had a nice laugh.
“I’m not like the rest of them,” she said, closing her eyes and leaning her head back on the trunk of the tree. “And you aren’t either. I knew that from the minute I saw you. Rita talks about you, you know. She is jealous, oh yeah!” I liked listening to her talk. Cassie turned towards me her eyes wide and searching. “You know what I want? To be away from all this. To be able to eat what I want, when I want it. To be able to do what I want whenever I want to do it!” she sighed longingly, “But with a life like this. Real happiness, real fun, it doesn’t come cheap.”
“I hate to break it to you Cassie, but nothing in your world comes cheap.” I hated the words the moment I’d spoken them, I’d never meant to insult Cassie. Did I? Would she hate me now?
No, Cassie only laughed. “You’re funny Patty. I like you.” She had her eyes closed again and her head leaned back. I ould see her fighting off a smile. “So tell me, what is there to do for fun at your place?”
So I told her. About my zine, Sally Mae, and the endless sunflowers. And even though it wasn’t caviar and fancy brunches, Cassie seemed really interested. She even asked if she could come over and see one of my zines. I told her yes, and “Cassie, I’ll even put you in one of zines if you want!” At this Cassie was really excited. She promised to come over around dinner time tomorrow.
As I left her house later that day, I couldn’t help but think, Cassie and I could be real good friends.
And you know what, I think we will be.
--- Patty and Maexxx
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