Fright Night

Everybody has a few things that are permanently engraved into their memory; most of the ones in mine are silly little moments, and this one is no exception.
I was about nine years old, and my family was still small; just me, my parents, and my two little sisters. It was a cold fall night, and my Mom was away. The blinds were drawn, a bag of popcorn had been popped, and my Dad wanted to put in a scary movie.
Now, you have to understand: It’s not that I hate scary movies, it’s just that my brain has always behaved sort of like a severely overstimulated office assistant, and giving it any sort of situation; a book, a TV show, a movie, or even one freaking half-formed sentence, is akin to giving said office assistant an urgent assignment and four mugs of industrial-strength coffee.

See, my too-happy mental friend is definitely well-meaning. But, he is an overachiever, and likes to keep me thinking for days, weeks, and months about anything I put in my head. As you may have guessed, when given even the mildest of scary films, he kindly takes it and turns it into a four-course meal of terror. So I don’t think anyone could fault me for trying to avoid the entire genre of horror.

As I was saying, the bean-bags were fluffed and the DVD fished out, and everyone else was ready for the insanity to begin. To their dismay, I picked up an apple from the fridge--popcorn and I have an uneasy relationship--and retreated to the peaceful confines of my bedroom.
It was just another night, just another one of the silly little memories that everyone has tucked away in their brain, but, to me at least, it is these small, innocuous moments that make us who we are, and keep life worth living.

World in a Cardboard Box

I’m pretty sure that books are magic. And not magic in the way that teachers tell you, “oh, reading can take you places!” Which it can, but I really think they’re magic. They change people. A simple book can be more powerful than an army, because books are full of ideas, and nothing is stronger or spreads faster than an idea. So when you put hundreds of them all in one place, it would make sense that that place would be special.
I’ve always loved the library. I remember going there for their special craft or costume days when I was really small, and walking along the aisles of big kid books and vowing that I’d be able to read those someday, too.
Those little rows of chapter books have nothing on the upstairs of my library, though. Any idea, any story, any anything, you can find it there. There’s nothing more thrilling than going back into the deepest recesses there, running silently around in just your socks, and picking up books no one’s read in ages. I could lie and say I did that when I was young, but there’s really no point, so I’ll just tell you the truth and say I did it a few weeks ago.
Reading, learning, exploring; those are all things I love to do with my whole soul. I’m lucky enough to live somewhere where I can do them often, too. And I know that even as my life gets busier and busier I’ll still find myself in the back of the library from time to time, looking for that special story that’s just waiting to be found.

Wizard Pictures

Imagine what it would be like if there was a place you could go to get a picture of your future. Not a full summary or a “there to now” reel, but just one small glimpse, compressed for you in the form of a living photograph. What would you want it to show?
In my mind, the picture is fairly simple. All I want is to be able to be able to do things I enjoy, and be with people I love. So for me, a perfect piece of my future would look about like this:
A kitchen, mostly tidy except for a mess of bowls and dough on one counter. Blue walls and a warm red rug. Little hands pressed against the oven door, an eager face peering in. The skittering of puppy feet and following laughter. Hot, soapy water running over a used pan. Glasses and cold milk ready on the table. A stack of library books against the wall. Bright artwork taped onto the fridge. A smile.
I know things don’t always turn out the way we hope, but I have an awful lot of hope for the future, so who knows? One thing I am certain of, though, is that the whole world is shown in wizard pictures, in small moving parts that all jumble together. So even if tomorrow doesn’t turn out as great as I planned, I’ll be able to find the little things that can help make it great, and in the end, that’s what really matters.

Where I'm From

I am from old books, from worn tents and new computers. I am from the loud, the unbalanced, the too-cold. I am from the soft, the comforting, the warm.
I am from the peaceful green moss, and the death-raging rivers.
I am from midnight oil and early-risers,from Carolyn and Linda and Clark.
I am from the laughers, the healers. I am from the cryers, the destroyers.
From Santa Claus and evil mountain owls, from Sunday mornings with cinnamon rolls and clean church buildings, from Monday nights, stiff and comfortable by turns.
I am from England, from Germany, from Scotland, from melted ice cream and hot spaghetti.
I am from running away in the bright afternoon, from whispering stories in the dark night, from all alone in the pouring rain.
I am from the dusty garage, boxes never opened and never thrown away. I am from shiny mantles and broken frames.
I am from all who came before, from everyone and everywhere.
I am from myself, what I choose to hold inside.