Mansion

A large foot comes stomping down on my own little feet. The delicate flats now have a dark, dusty footprint stained on the purple suede. I whip my head around to glare at the rude person who ruined my new ballet flats but when I already have my mean face painted on, and I have turned to see them… They’re gone. I sigh and lean down to brush off the mark. Just as my fingertips have touched the suede, another person–no, boulder, comes knocking into my shoulder. The force sends me toppling over, and with identical dirty spots on my brand-new jeans. I shoot up from the musty old floor, prepared to explode in the person’s face. My blood is boiling over–my head is bubbling with flame–my face is bursting with fresh rage. I quickly locate my target and I start to storm towards them, creating rough clouds of dust behind me when BLAM! One, two, three men come hurtling in my direction. I shriek just as one crashes into my side, the next shoves me aside sharply against the left shoulder, and the third… He elbows me in the ribs and I’m left behind, gasping for air, like a fish out of water, in a clutter of people and a wispy swirl of dust. I desperately cough and claw at the ground, my voice is a ragged rasp, hacking and coughing hideously. Finally I let out one last harsh cough and stand up.

Dad thumps me on the back, “you okay girl?” He asks.
“Floating to heaven on cloud nine.” I grouch sarcastically.
“Then you’re just perfect!” Dad jokes. I just slap my palm to my forehead and wince. Ouch. Got a bruise or two… Or three… The crowd that has gathered begins to gradually trickle away, leaving me, my family, my pain, and my misery. I grumble and dust off my clothes and shove my hands into my pockets, only I realized to late that the pockets in my jeans are fake, and end up scratching myself on a button instead. Mom is gaping at my clothes and she immediately come racing up to brush me off. I have a very thorough pat down session that goes on for three minutes, with an extremely embarrassing scene of having your mom dust off the seat of your jeans.
“Moooooom!” I whine through gritted teeth, “People are staring again!”
“Well I won’t have my daughter walk through Spain looking like a hobo.” Mom snaps.
“Half the people here ARE hobos!” I spat back gruffly.
Mom just continues on, the rest of my family trailing behind her like a mother duck and her ducklings.

I’m the last in the line.

We arrive at a fancy market: there are a bunch of huge food and candy sections. The four of us kids zip eagerly up to the candy stand, our eyes already feasting hungrily on the colorful piles of treats that we will soon be filling our tummies with. My eyes locate my favorite sweets in a spilt second. Mom allows us to select a few goodies and drop them in a bag. The cashier rings us up. He is chubby and he looks grumpy, like he didn’t get enough sleep last night. I quickly snatch the candy from him, so I don’t have to touch his squishy-looking sweaty hand. “Gracias.” He mumbles. I gaze around the room. In every spot–every corner, there is some kind of delicious food stand. The seafood, the meat, the fruit, the sweets, the smoothie station, it’s all gloriously beautiful. It’s like a food mansion, a food palace here. I flip my head around every which way, trying to thirstily drink in all the sights. There is one particularly odd stand, you could even say gross. It sold every single cow product you could imagine, the heart, the stomach, the head, the liver, even the cows BLOOD, made into coagulated blood cubes. I pretended to gag at the sight of it, my sister giggled.
“Why would anybody want to eat cow-blood? Does it taste good?” I snickered.
“No way! That stuff probably tastes disgusting!” My dad shouted with a laugh.
“Then why would people want it?” I snorted.
“Maybe it’s good to bathe in it!” My older brother chuckled.
“Ewwwwww!” I shrieked, “Ewwwww! We have enough blood on the inside! We don’t need it on the outside!”
“No kids, people eat it ’cause it’s healthy, they probably totally hate it though!” Dad guffawed. Mom joined the laughter and so did the younger kids. We were all chortling uncontrollably after that. What was in the beginning, a bad day, turned into a hilarious memorable one after that! I’m still gagging and giggling now!

Firsts

There’s always a first time for everything. Your first words, your first steps, your first breath of life. Firsts are special, like yesterday was my birthday, and I got my very first camera.

On that camera. I took my very first picture.

That picture was special.

It was of one of my birthday cards. A beautiful card, with swirly, pearlescent blue writing that read, “Fancytastic.”
I know, I know, fancytastic isn’t a real word, but they were creative enough to make it up. That’s what made it special.

Or maybe it was because the card was decorated with jewels of turquoise, sea green, and deep purple. The card was silver and sparkly, and kind of fancy for a teen. But, I loved it very much.

Though I loved the picture even more.

Because that picture was a first.

My very first picture on my very first camera. I snapped off a few more, a second. A third.

The camera is silver and shines like crystal ice. The pictures are sharp, bright, filling like water in a clear glass. You can see the water splashing around, spilling glittering droplets that swish against the cool glass and slide down, still shimmering. In the pictures, you see the people, the plants, the animals, the light, the life filling the little square with memory. Some of the people spill out, then duck quickly back in. The light beams against the smooth surfaces of the tables and furniture, creating a gleam, a glare.

I kept only that one picture because it was so simple. You could only see the sparkle of the card, the gleam of the lettering, the glittering of the jewels. Then you saw a rough carpet behind it, the color of pale peaches. That brings the attention to the beauty of…

The picture.

The moment.

The first.

Have you had a favorite first?

Thanks Jack

I saw something glittery white blue layered over the grass like a frozen sheet yesterday. The mysterious blanket looked like shimmering, crackled, thin, glass. I was sitting in my car, staring out the window, contemplating what the sparkling paper-white substance was when I noticed the window.

Tiny swirls and curls intricately decorated the icy glass. Like somebody carved beautiful mini pictures and then spilled little bits of white and silver glitter in the marks. I carefully slid my hand out of its pocket, trembling, and placed fingertips gingerly on the lovely glass. My fingers fluttered just above the glass and I moved in just the tiniest bit closer. My slender fingers, now beginning to become a frozen blue color, flirted with the dancing swirls and whirling curls on the cool glass.

I quickly snatched my hand off the window, like I had been caught stealing from the cookie jar, because I didn’t want to spoil the gorgeous pictures. I set my hand down on the seat, but it was like resting your hand on ice. My pocket looked quite warm and inviting. I lifted my hand and swiftly slipped it in. I sighed with pleasure as my hand returned to normal temperature.

I glanced briefly at the pictures on the frosty–

That’s what it was, frost. But how? This was Texas, and it was before Thanksgiving! We never, ever, EVER get frost, snow, ice or anything like that in the middle of November! This was AWESOME!

I leaned back and breathed in deeply. I smiled and let my eyes drift closed. I exhaled heavily and let a long, cold, cloud gust out of my mouth. “Thanks Jack Frost.” I thought with a giggle. “Thanks.” My eyes flew open and I gasped because the temperature dropped a couple degrees. Another short puff of a frosted cloud burst out and settled like sugar in tea.

Maybe it could snow here this year.

Baby Birthday

Soon I will be going to my baby cousin’s very first birthday party!
Most little children have parties where the baby is dressed in pale colors, the house is decorated with Elmo or something, and the food includes a big bowl of juicy, grated carrots.

But if you go to a teenager’s party…
Well, that’s a whole different story.

There, the special kid will wear a brand new outfit or something (usually girls), they go somewhere and do something and have like, a sleepover, and the food includes things like pizza, and grilled items and they could have lots of candy and cake.

My birthday party last year was supercool. I had facials and a movie, the house had streamers and sparkly door hangings. We had pizza for dinner, and doughnuts and chocolate as sweets. We watched Freaky Friday, the one with Lindsey Lohan. I had some friends sleepover and in the morning it was a buffet breakfast! There were waffles, fruit, eggs, bacon, and toppings for the waffles. For party favors I bought necklaces, each one picked out especially for one person. There were chocolate truffles with white frosting and sprinkles. A cherry topped it off. “Funfetti” was the flavor. My friends and I all had a blast! We pretended that we wouldn’t see each other in forever when it was time for them to leave.

I went to another baby cousin’s birthday party. He turned two. He had a party in his house and on the lawn. Food included little hot dogs and cooked vegetables. The desserts were mini frosted cupcakes. Most everybody cooed over the little boy and his brother, then talked for the afternoon. All of the guests with other small children left early, when the kids were sort of getting sleepy and upset. Nap time! Soon the “party” was over. Everybody had been very polite and dressed up. It wasn’t super great as parties go, but still I loved being with the little babies and toddlers. Squeaking out their little sayings that were hilarious and made no sense.

Why are little kids and teenager’s parties different? Why is Elmo babyish to us but when you’re three it’s the best thing ever? Why do our clothing style and haircuts change from toddlers to teens?

Can’t somebody answer these burning questions?

A Bittersweet Choice and Five Treat Facts

Chocolate and candy are both known as “comfort foods” in the world of kids and teenagers.
Everybody loves chocolate or candy or something to make their tastebuds tingle. It’s so deliciously mouthwatering and the luxurious taste that we can really sink out teeth into always leaves us craving more. Handfuls. Bucketfuls. Boxfuls. Roomfuls. Truckloads. Oceans worth. A worlds worth of candy and chocolate. It’s a kid’s dream and desire to just stuff themselves full of it!

Why do teenagers love candy so much? Simply because it’s delicious and to some because their parents won’t let them have it so they like it because they feel rebellious eating it. Sugary candies, sour candies, chewy candies and hard candies are just a few popular types of candies. Chocolate has different flavors and varieties too. Kids mostly like these sweets because it’s taste is fabulous and it makes them happy to be able to have access to something so amazingly fantastic.

Which would you choose? Candy or Chocolate? Maybe even just something like a sugary treat? A gourmet desert? Fruit? Baked goods? What sweet treat really makes your mouth tingle?

5 facts about sweets…

1. Chocolate makes you thirsty because it’s dehydrating. This occurs because chocolate has a more complex form of sugar than what can be used inside your body. To convert this new sugar into something your body can use, it requires water molecules that are put towards the complicated sugar transformation. Once the sugar is changed and the conversion is complete, your water supply has been depleted a little. Your body signals when you are thirsty so that you can replenish your water supply.

2. Chocolate comes from a bitter tasteless bean called the cacao bean. People make a cacao butter used in the chocolate. Something sooooo delicious comes from something so disgusting like a diamond coming from coal. You can see the process of making chocolate if you set up a meeting with a chocolate factory or you can click this link!

3. The two most popular Halloween candies in the world are Reese’s and M&M’s.

4. The world’s sourest candy is called Toxic Waste. (Don’t worry its really candy!) Get ready to make some faces. People said things like “pucker up buttercup!” after they experienced the bursting flavor like a stinging punch from this candy.

5. Cotton Candy is just basically pure spun sugar. That’s why it comes apart and melts into bits in your mouth. Of course, artificial colors and flavors are added.

Halloween Costumes

This year for Halloween I am being a medieval princess. Last year I was a cute devil. Before that I was Cleopatra a with seductive blue eye shadow. It was more like dark, sparkly, clear, depth of the lake kind of eye paint. One more year before I was a glamorous witch with sparkly buckles on my hat and dress belt. It was cool black and deep yet bright purple. Some girl stepped on my dress while I was walking and tripped me so she could get to a house’s candy first. Greedy little girl. She was dressed as a menacing enchantress. Her dark cloak flew out like trailing blackbirds behind her and her eyes were like white crystals sparkling from under her black veil for she was wearing colored contacts. They were creepily beautiful and they wrapped you in her sweet evil. Her pretty face was pale and shone like diamonds in moonlight. A lovely monster she was. Her candy bag was shaped like a basket. Her long, smooth hair was floating about as she glided along the road. It shined amongst its heavy drapes of night silk and light twilight lace. Her hair was colorless but had a sort of silvery glow. It was gorgeous, fluttering in the breeze and a sweet subtle blonde shade that shimmered like dew on lilies. I almost forgave this girl of freak beauty but realized she had just ruined my costume which was yes, enrapturing and had scraped my knees now speckled with glittering crimson blood. I caught a glance into her white crystal eyes and they clouded for a moment. They sparkled and flickered for a tiny second but she snapped her head around and whipped her perfect hair. Her toe snagged her night-dark dress and stumbled but she regained her grace and slipped away. I snatched at the empty air and sighed… I should have gotten the enchantress back. Her lovely yet hideous soul captivated me. She looked so innocent and she was probably only like five or six but appeared like a gorgeous haunting ghost. Have you seen anything so creepily beautiful like this?

A Memory. I laugh now, but not then.

I have been to Europe, twice.

I remember once I was riding a train for maybe eight hours. My family and I had been seated comfortably, sipping lemon and orange sodas, and reading. I was cozy, my chair leaned back with a book perched on my knees and a soft biscuit placed on a printed plate settled in my lap. The orange soda can was in my hands and we heard a voice over the intercom speak in a nasally voice. “This is the Venezia maestre stop, we repeat, Venezia maestre.” Venice was my stop and Venezia meant Venice so at that sound my ears perked up and my hands dropped the empty soda can on the table and began to pack up my belongings. We rushed off the train exhilarated by the thrill of being in Venice. But I didn’t see any water taxis, or the grand canal. We saw cars, there are no cars in Venice. An Italian man was wheeling his bike into a port. My mother asked him the directions to the Vaporetto, the place where you get a water taxi. He said, ” The Vaporetto? You are not in Venice ma’am.” Her face paled. Where were we and where’s the water? My dad checked a nearby sign. It read Venezia Maestre. My dad smirked. “Guess you’re right asking where’s the water! We are not in Venice! We hopped off a stop early!” He stated brightly. The man with the bike smiled. He looped the chain around the bike’s handlebars and strapped it to the metal port. Then he gave the lock a twist and a whirl. I heard a click and again I remembered we were thirty minutes away from our destination and didn’t have a clue as how to get there. I glanced briefly at the man and sighed. Mom clenched her hands into hard fists. She formed her lips into a tight line and raised her eyebrows. With a quick look at bike guy she added, “Is there any way that you could possibly catch a taxi from here? The man’s face made a question mark. He shrugged. I sucked in a short burst of breath sharply. We sort of just all thanked the man who introduced himself but I wasn’t listening and headed into the train station. “Let’s see the train listings. Maybe we could catch the next one to Venice. It doesn’t matter what seats we get. At least we will go!” My brother suggested. I mumbled that I agreed. The rest of my family nodded solemnly. What could happen?

Okay rephrase. What couldn’t happen? Nothing couldn’t have. We dragged heavy bags up and down like twelve flights of stairs, chased and missed like thirty trains, our bags bumped and bruised our legs, and our arms felt like boiled noodles after we stopped to regain our strength. Mom was fuming, her eyes were glazed with exhaustion and pain, and her face was pink with fury. Her eyes snapped but still sparkled. She stormed towards customer service to tell them our “difficult situation” as they called it. I called it our agonizing day of torment. She stopped in front of two people in uniform coats. “Excuse me, but we got off our train one stop early, could you please direct us to the nearest train to Venice?” The man exchanged looks with his female co-worker. He took a moment to inhale and sigh loudly and rudely. “You must have a ticket for the next train in…” He glanced at his watch and peered at us from under his hat with a bored look on his face. “Five minutes.” He continued slowly. The woman nudged the man and pasted a fake cheery look on her face. “I could show you to the ticket stand. Perhaps your family would like to aboard the train now while you buy the ticket? You would probably make your train just in time.” Five minutes? We would never make it! Mom’s eyes clouded for a moment and cleared. Run! Her eyes flashed. See you soon, just… go!

I turned on my heel and skipped a step which almost caused me to trip. I swayed dangerously, on the verge of collapsing. I caught myself and bounded down the stairs. My huge purple suitcase banged my leg. Pound! Pound! Pound! Pound! To the beat of my footsteps. My shoes clicked against the linoleum which began to get slippery. I skidded to check on the rest of the group. With them bustling on behind me, I decided to press on. I felt like the hour hand of the clocks whirled around a thousand times. Three more minutes and around half way there. I jumped the last couple steps and smashed onto the floor, heels digging into the hard surface to not slip. I slide along the hallway, my purple suitcase rolling behind. Lagging, it clicked and hit some bumps but I pushed on. Two minutes to get up the steps and across the platform. I skittered to a halt and steered my bag in a wide circle, it narrowly misses my toes. I whipped my head around and avert my gaze to see the rest of my family crashing into each other and yanking along banging bags to keep up. I tugged my bag which gets stuck on the edge of the step and with a burst of effort the wheels rolled, and come loose from the stairs. I keep tugging and hurtling up. We race from the top step and flash across the platform. The train is still in. I drag myself along to get on and finally I am. We sink into our seats. One minute. I remember mom, still buying tickets. I worry for her. I am pouring sweat and I clutch the table so hard my knuckles are white. Thirty seconds. Mom leaps on, her eyes wild and falls into her seat. I cough. Then swallow. Mom holds up a triumphant handful of red rimmed tickets glinting in the light. Dad chuckles, he chortles and we all join in giggling. Soon we are all engulfed in fits of big gulping laughter. “Hey that lady was right!” Dad snorts.
“What?” I ask breathlessly.
“She said we probably would make it just in time! And we definitely did!” The train jolts to confirm. We pull out of the station a little fuzzy and sore but otherwise, we were perfectly fine.

Do you have any interesting memories to share that you laugh about now and didn’t then?

Ice Dream

Through the tunnel of lights
Into our skates
Laces looped around the shining silver hook
Onto the rink of slippery ice
Sliding along the rim
Across the shimmering glaze
Away from the chattering cloud
Carving swirls within the middle
Among the chilling wind
The frost biting at your fingertips,
But you don’t care,

Because

you are drifting off
Amid the swirling snow
Deep inside daydreams.