"The Mountain"

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Good Morning, and welcome to Sensational Stories Saturday, a place for writing and sharing stories in honor of and inspired by this girl. I'll do my best to keep them 250wc :) All stories are my own, authored by me, and not authorized for distribution without my permission. All stories are fictionalized accounts based on my own best experiences from childhood. Sometimes you don't realize they are "best experiences" until you are a grown-up. If you would like to share a story, please do so by either leaving one in the comments or leave a comment and let us know where your link is.

The Mountain

She could not understand why all of her friends wanted to rack their skis and go sip hot chocolate in the lodge when there was still 2 hours of lift ticket time left before the bus left the mountain to take them home. At 13, she had discovered the feeling of turning moguls beneath a breathtaking, star-crisped night. Swish, swish, swish. Breath 1, breath 2, breath 3 – she counted – and JUMP – Puff! She landed. How did this compare to overpriced, not even hot, hot chocolate? How could you possibly get cold if you were moving? 

She was baffled. No one was around. She had the entire mountain to herself. As she rode the lift one last time up the hill, she let her head and neck sink into the lift chair and stared up into the night. A raven came to say hello with a quiet, shadow-flight that was impossible to hear without your eyes closed; without tiny, luminescent snowflakes falling on your face in the dark. 

As she slid off of the chair and onto the run, she caught a glimpse of someone familiar. Her jaw dropped as she realized who it was – The cutest boy at ski school. And he was still out skiing. Wow! She figured he was inside the lodge drinking lukewarm hot chocolate with everyone else. He waited for her to catch up, smiled, and without saying a word, they took one last run down the mountain together.  

A Bit of Cheer, A Thank-You List, And A Love Poem

This morning, we acted like married people. We both woke up early, as we do most every day. I came downstairs, brewed a pot of coffee and began pouring into my writing hour. And I needed this hour. This. One. Hour. To myself.  My usually quiet and very good-looking roommate came down the stairs soon after. And he started talking...and talking...and talking, and all I could think was WHY right now. Well, it turns out my sensitivity dial was turned to low because if I had been for-really-real listening, I would have heard the words of a husband in need of a friend, and trying to confide in his wife as one, instead of a "very good-looking roommate" in need of attention. Maybe I wouldn't have been such an a-hole.

We had a laugh over this, but I know BAH went on to have a bit of a crappy, out-of-sorts morning because of some other stuff, and I just wanted to take today's post to add a bit of cheer to his day. I am, therefore, posting one of my very favorite love poems by E. E. Cummings (my fellow-word-chewer and lover of) as well as a thank-you list, to my badass husband:

1. Thank you for always remembering to brush our son's teeth
2. Thank you for making the bed
3. Thank you for never once complaining about my cooking
4. Thank you for group hugs with Thomas the Train
5. Thank you for knowing our son and for being able to decipher his wordless speech when I cannot
6. Thank you for your patience
7. Thank you for teaching our son to love animals, not just to ID them :)
8. Thank you for letting me convert our bathroom into a Kombucha brewery, our garage into a workspace, and our basement into yet another workspace...and while we are at it, thank you for getting me to relax and stop creating workspaces :)
9. Thank you for your wonderful sense of adventure and for your ability to dream, even the most unrealistic ones
10. Thank you for saying "I love you" and being so sweet every day I have known you
 

i am so glad and very 

by E. E. Cummings

i am so glad and very
merely my fourth will cure
the laziest self of weary
the hugest sea of shore

so far your nearness reaches
a lucky fifth of you
turns people into eachs
and cowards into grow

our can'ts were born to happen
our mosts have died in more
our twentieth will open
wide a wide open door

we are so both and oneful
night cannot be so sky
sky cannot be so sunful
i am through you so i

"Swimming Hole"

Good Morning, and welcome to Sensational Stories Saturday, a place for writing and sharing stories in honor of and inspired by this girl. I'll do my best to keep them 250wc :) All stories are my own, authored by me, and not authorized for distribution without my permission. All stories are fictionalized accounts based on my own best experiences from childhood. Sometimes you don't realize they are "best experiences" until you are a grown-up. If you would like to share a story, please do so by either leaving one in the comments or leave a comment and let us know where your link is.

Image Credit: iStockphoto/Yenwen Lu via this Science Daily article

Swimming Hole

A group of wild children lived in the forest. They made their home in an ancient and long-abandoned barn, which was built in the center of a meadow. The meadow was once a pond, as most meadows are in the beginning. We have the beavers to thank for that. The wild children were not alone. You see, the beavers adopted them, when they were very young, from the grandparents. 

The beavers did their best to teach the wild children about keeping clean and harvesting food for winter. The wild children protected the beavers from large predators who wanted to eat them. The wild children were excellent hunters. The beavers, however, much as they tried, could not protect the wild children from the sun's hot rays. The skin of human children is completely naked and soft, something the beavers could never full understand. 

One summer (the hottest on record), the beavers had an idea to help protect the wild children from the sun. They decided to build the biggest, widest dam across the stream that they had ever built, thereby providing a giant swimming hole for their wild children. They lost no time on building the dam, and when the children saw it, they squealed with delight and jumped in the giant swimming hole, making the biggest splashes anyone had ever seen! The clever beavers had built the swimming hole in the shade of the stream, and the grateful, wild children spent their entire summer splashing and swimming in that swimming hole.

My Bookshelf and My Constant Search

Upcoming reads...

I just finished reading Ed King by David Guterson, who is one of my favorite fiction writers (also authored Snow Falling on Cedars and  East of the Mountains). The writing was superb, and the subject matter was a dark and masterful form of vengeance on a bunch of shady characters who all got what they deserved and then some, in the end. If you know Guterson, you know he lets no stone go unturned in his stories with regard to cause and effect, but I have to say, I was kind of just craving his sweet characters the whole time and waiting for them to appear in this story. They never did. 

I love receiving books as gifts, and even though my stack is large, I really do get around to reading each and every one of them. I love reading fiction, but about 75% of what I read is non-fiction. All that means is that I have to be a fast reader and a picky one when it comes to my fiction pile. If I read one delicious piece from any particular author, I tend to stick with that author for life. Number One Stalker. I also take fiction recommendations extremely seriously when it comes from friends or folks I trust and respect. 

I am currently into a great non-fiction read called The Botany of Desire (Michael Pollan 2001), which takes a historical look at humanity's relationship with certain domesticated plants, all the while hinging the thought-provoking question of "who is domesticating whom?" This book was a gift from an acquaintance while I was working as a biologist in San Diego. My only regret is that I waited so long to read it.

Next on the list is another NF piece, Not Just Spirited, A Mom's Sensational Journey with Sensory Processing Disorder (Chynna T. Laird 2009). I can't wait to read this beautifully written memoir of a mother's journey with her daughter, in their first 6 years. I will admit, I have more than skimmed the pages of this one. Chynna and her daughter, Jaimie, sent an autographed copy of this book to me as a gift. The reviews on this book are fantastic, and I look forward to writing my own!

I then have the following books on my shelf, in this order:

1. The Help (gift from BFF/sister-in-law), by Kathryn Stockett  
2. The Five Love Languages of Children (gift from other sister-in-law), by Gary Chapman and Ross Campbell  
3. Brother Fish (future gift to self), by Bryce Courtenay 
4. A Hole in the Gospel (gift from mother-in-law), by Richard Stearn.   

Have an all-time favorite book? 

Let me know, and I will add it to my list. Looking for a recommend? My hands-down favorite work of fiction is The Power of One by Bryce Courtenay.  

"Marshmallow Cake"

Good Morning, and welcome to Sensational Stories Saturday, a place for writing and sharing stories in honor of and inspired by this girl. I'll do my best to keep them 250wc :) All stories are my own, authored by me, and not authorized for distribution without my permission. All stories are fictionalized accounts based on my own best experiences from childhood. Sometimes you don't realize they are "best experiences" until you are a grown-up. If you would like to share a story, please do so by either leaving one in the comments or leave a comment and let us know where your link is.

Marshmallow Cake

The blue velvet couch sits next to the woodstove, and together, they swallow her in one soft, crackling gulp. They sip the pain in her ears and chew the knives within her throat. Deeply furrowed brows and praying hands come to check on her throughout the smoky days and hissing nights of winter.

Her mom takes her to the hospital to breathe soapy steam from a large machine. The machine is rhythmic and makes her sleepy. She is not breathing quite right, and someone gets up in the middle of the snap-popping night to drape a blanket across her body.

She forgot it was her 11^th birthday, but her dad did not. He made her a birthday cake with marshmallow cream frosting and pink candles. This was the first (and only) time she had ever seen her dad bake something, so she knew mom must have been sick, too. She had never seen anyone frost a cake with marshmallow cream. Dads must be really smart. She feels loved, suffocated by its sticky marshmallow sweetness. Be still.

She becomes the moss on the fire-logs and the spiders who scramble to escape their fiery end, at the very last, misty moment. Eventually, she becomes the fire. 

8 Mile Run with Flat Stanley

A very flat, very small boy arrived on our doorstep Thursday evening. He said his name was Flat Stanley, and that he was here visiting as a guest of our own, sweet Nephew #1. We found out from Nephew #1 that Flat Stanley's 7th birthday was this weekend, so we promised to show him a good time. To kick start the perfect birthday weekend, Flat Stanley and Aunt Becca decided to run 8 miles. It was a sunny and cold morning.

Flat Stanley really liked running along the open roads and through the Boy Scouts of America Camp on Post at Fort Leavenworth. He did not even complain about the fact that the entire run was nothing but hills, even though Aunt Becca did.

Flat Stanley enjoyed running past the horse stables and petting the horses. They were very friendly, but Flat Stanley had to be careful because the horses thought he might be food. He is about the size of a small carrot, after all.

Flat Stanley and Aunt Becca were thankful for the bright blue skies and for a quiet morning. They were also grateful for their health and for the ability to run. Since this is an Army Post, there are a lot of very brave soldiers who run here on just one leg and sometimes without an arm. Being able to run among those men and women was a great honor for Aunt Becca and Flat Stanley.

"Yeay, we are almost home!" yells Flat Stanley.

Flat Stanley enjoyed the views of Fort Leavenworth and the Missouri River. After his run with Aunt Becca, he had a big chocolate milkshake and lots of water, but this was only the beginning of his birthday weekend...

"Mud Puddles"

Good Morning, and welcome to Sensational Stories Saturday, a place for writing and sharing stories in honor of and inspired by this girl. I'll do my best to keep them 250wc :) All stories are my own, authored by me, and not authorized for distribution without my permission. All stories are fictionalized accounts based on my own best experiences from childhood. Sometimes you don't realize they are "best experiences" until you are a grown-up. If you would like to share a story, please do so by either leaving one in the comments or leave a comment and let us know where your link is.  

Mud Puddles

I tap the ice with the toe of my shoe, and mud puddle water seeps through the cracks in its ice roof as the bus pulls up to my stop. Only one of them rides the bus in the mornings, and all she does is look out the window. She smells like cigarette smoke, which wafts to the front. When I see her, my prayers freeze like mud puddle water.

In the afternoon, they both ride the bus home, she and the blonde one. Their words are like stones, and they throw them at me, sometimes hard enough to crack the skin. Blood dribbles down the side of my face, or is it tears? Maybe it is mud puddle water that has melted, once and for all, the essence of my 8-year old being.

They are 6^th-graders, and they tell me I am a goody-goody and a teacher’s pet. My dad says they are just jealous and to ignore them. Ignoring them makes it worse. They are the dust beneath your feet, he tells me. I look at the dust beneath my feet on the floor of his work truck and imagine them there.  

 The next day, I turn around in my seat, to face them. You are jealous. I tell them. It is a statement and a question. Yeah, so? One of them responds. They roll their eyes and never bother me again, after this. I do not understand why, but it is spring now, and the mud puddles have filled in with grass and dandelions and my pity.    

Get Ready for Some Sensational Stories!

A couple of weeks ago, I told you about this momma-daughter team working to bring awareness to Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD) by bringing both information and JOY to EVERYONE through their writing. Jaimie writes a weekly guest post on her mom's blog, The Gift, and recently decided to host her very own 250-word story contest. The theme was "your best experience, ever". Story themes can be wonderful and powerful canvases for our characters, which is why I love writing exercises spurred by prompts. Weekly prompts become a necessary outlet for those voices who do not get heard when you are nose-to-the-grindstone writing (or revising).

The Finish Line is going to take a bit of a turn. In honor of Jaimie's "Sensational World" and SPD awareness, I would like to continue Jaimie's great theme every weekend for the remainder of 2012, beginning this weekend. These creations will be fictionalized stories based on my "best experience(s), ever", and they will primarily be from my childhood, considering my (totally awesome) audience.

If anyone reading this would like to join in each week or ever, please feel free to do so by either linking back to The Finish Line, or leaving your story in the comments. All I ask is that you keep it clean, 250 words or less, and of appropriate subject matter for a young gal. And of course, it must be based on your "best experience, ever". 

Happy writing, everyone!

*"Sensational" and "Sensational World" as well as "best experience ever" are terms of creation of The Gift, and the use of these terms on this blog is credited purely to the authors of The Gift and in their honor.

You Can Run Fat

Anyone can. I have been doing it, and quite well, I might add, for about 10 years now. Never having been one to obsess over body image, I thought I looked pretty good, all those years. As a long distance runner, you just feel good running, so what is there to feel negatively about? The thing is that since I graduated from college back in 2000, got a real job, and learned how to cook (e.g. started making enough money to afford my wishlist of ingredients, cooking gear, and wines), I had gained about 20-30 pounds, give or take 10 lbs for a fluctuating training plan or having a baby or hiking for a living. 

This past Thanksgiving (2011) we were visiting BAH's family (sweetest ever) in Mississippi, and I was chatting with one of his cousins, and I noticed that Cousin K had lost a significant amount of weight. He looked great. The real significance here was that I had never thought he was chubby to begin with. I think, in general, maybe I just don't notice those things. Cousin K, you were actually my original kick start inspiration in all of this. Who knew? Well, Baby H had his 1st birthday and became little h, and that was it. For the first time in my life, I realized I really needed to lose some weight, permanently, and also for the first time in my life, through diet changes rather than running. Running was not to be trusted. Running, is like that crazy college friend who you cannot refuse indulgence. Running has been the best worst influence in all of this :)

My stats: I am happy to report that I have lost nearly 20 lbs and am 5 lbs away from my goal weight. I have dropped from a size 12 to a baggy 8. My runs are still slow (12-minute miles), but easier!! I haven't done a speed workout for 4 years, so that is only to be expected. You don't get faster by running at the same pace, haha. Don't care for now. Turns out, my blood pressure is still high. I had gestational hypertension and was hoping it would go down after I dropped some weight, but nope. More on that later.

BAH, my amazing husband, has been my true rock and support through all of this because really, I feel like he has probably made more sacrifices than I have, food-wise :) When the dinner chef is no longer drinking a half of a bottle of wine while she is cooking dinner, about 2/3 of the oil and butter is suddenly eliminated from the saute pan, as it turns out :) Huh. He has been an amazing guinea pig as I have learned to make my own pizza crust instead of going out for pizza every weekend; been a good sport eating soups and stir-fries and trying new things, and NOT bringing home beer and wine and chocolate every other day. And Doritos :) He has never complained once about any of these changes, even though they were all pretty moderate, and we still enjoy our wine and Doritos, from time to time. Still, this would not have been possible, if he was not willing to make these changes with me. 

When I get to a size 6 (not that I care in the slightest about being a 6, but it will happen as a result of 5 more lbs), I'll probably have to go shopping. I secretly wish the people from TLC's "What Not to Wear" would come to my house and make me throw away my oversized sweaters, but chances are, I will have to go by myself. I will have to try things on. At an actual store, not grabbing something off of the rack at Target on my way to the checkout stand from buying diapers or Windex (I love you, Target!!). It may or may not be pretty, but it will feel pretty darn good. 

I'll probably just end up buying some candles :)     

Ode to Dr. Seuss

"Waiting for the fish to bite or waiting for wind to fly a kite.  Or waiting around for Friday night or waiting perhaps for their Uncle Jake or a pot to boil or a better break or a string of pearls or a pair of pants or a wig with curls or another chance.  Everyone is just waiting."  ~Dr. Seuss

Sometimes, we don't have a choice but to wait. In the small moments (sometimes very small, indeed) of waiting, we can choose to do very big things. 

We can, if we will, spread our very small wings.

What will you do while you wait?

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