Category Archives: The Way It Was

Happy Prom Season!

I never went to Prom. Thanks for reopening that wound.

However, I did go to the winter formal, “The Sno’ball” because it was girls’ choice.

Newt and I were looking at old embarrassing photos of my glory days this morning and came across a couple of real gems. Want to see a picture of 15-year-old me having the time of her life with shoes dyed to match?
snowball 90
Awww, aren’t we cute?

If you are wondering why I look so incredibly thrilled, I imagine it’s because this picture was taken two days after my first big break-up. And yes, it was with the boy standing next to me. (Hi, Shane!)

That fact could explain why I got out my scissors and paste (pre-photoshop days) and doctored up the official Sno’ball photo.
snowball 90a
Obviously, I had my mind on a real winner.

I’d also like to note, those shoes dyed to match? Not so good in Oregon rain. My feet were green for days.

Those photos were from my second year attending the Sno’ball. Sadly, the ones from the year before didn’t seem to survive my adolescence. But I can still paint you a little mental picture of the wonders of that night.

I attended with a nice boy named Dustin. We were just friends. He wore a classic black tux with a red vest. I wore a black dress with a red shawl and had my orthodontist place red rubber bands on my braces to match. I used half a can of blue Aqua-Net and arranged my hair into the stiffest cloud of perfection ever to grace a 14-year-old head.

After a fancy dinner with two other stunning couples at the local Red Lobster, we loaded into an extra fancy horse-drawn carriage.

Before our carriage had gone a block, it was rear ended.

I remember screeching tires and panicked neighing. Then the canvas door ripped off, my date fell out, and the carriage tipped over on him. Aside from a few bumps and bruises we were all okay. And once the police report was given there was still time to dance the night away–in a rain soaked dress and with dissolved hairspray shellacking my face.

You know, now that I think of it, not attending my prom was probably a good thing.

I’d love to hear your formal dance horror stories. I might even send a little consolation something or other to my favorite. Leave a comment or a link to your blog.

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Adventures of Heidi: Backyard Surprise

A little while ago, I posted the following important information on my facebook page:
spider facebook 1
(Note: For those of you who may not know, Hannah is Newt. Or Newt is Hannah. Whichever you prefer.)
This posting led to a discussion about animals–including zombie rabbits, something about a dog and a Taco Bell wrapper, and the time I had to give a lifesaving enema to a chicken.
Yes, really.
Don’t you wish you were me?
You can read the entire thread here.
The discussion reminded me about some childhood shenanigans I have yet to share here. Since it has been quite a while since I whipped out my magic markers for an Adventures of Heidi Story, I did just that.

Adventures of Heidi: Backyard Surprise

Once upon a time there was a Heidi. On this particular day in her life, Heidi was seven years old. Heidi’s much older sister loved to sew for Heidi and put her long hair in rag rollers for beautiful seven-year-old blond curls. (None of that back story is relevant, but sometimes Heidi likes to say things to remind her much older sister how much younger Heidi is. Heidi can be a bit of a terror to those closest to her. She is working on it. [She is not working on it.])
Heidi, age 7

Heidi and her family lived in a house with a big backyard. Heidi’s dad grew a marvelous garden that attracted all kinds of hungry beasts, of both neighbor-child and animal varieties. One of Heidi’s brothers, just a few years older than her, liked to set traps for the creatures–and he often caught them.
Those poor children.
One day, Heidi’s dad came in the house with a treasure he had found on the garden ground.

Pheasant Feather

“Well,” her dad said, “it’s pretty clear what is eating my corn. Looks like a pheasant feather to me.”
And it was.
Heidi’s brother’s eyes gleamed with the idea of catching that pheasant. It was all he could talk about for days minutes.
Young Heidi didn’t really know what a pheasant was, but to hear her brother talk, it was something special. Perhaps even something like this:

Magical Pheasant

Heidi decided she would help in any way her brother needed. He settled on a plan to catch the pheasant the same way they caught frogs–with a baited fishing hook.*

Corn Bait

 

It's a trap!

However, the next day, when Heidi and her brother checked the trap, this is what they found:

empty

Clearly, more drastic measures were called for. Heidi’s brother decided to BREAK THE LAW. In other words, he decided to defy Heidi’s dad’s law to NEVER ENTER THE SHED WITHOUT PERMISSION.
Heidi’s brother sneaked the keys from their kitchen hook and entered the forbidden shed. He made Heidi come along because, as he explained to her, “If we both do it, you won’t tell.”
Inside the shed, the pair found just the thing: a live trap.

live trap

It was a wire cage with a trigger bar inside. If an animal stepped on the bar, the cage door would slam shut, trapping the creature inside.
Heidi and her brother congratulated each other on the fact that they would have a pet pheasant before breakfast the next day.
The trap was baited with corn and set far in the back of the garden, where it would not be visible from the house.
The next morning, Heidi and her brother arose early, eager to meet their new pet. As they made their way through the tall stalks of corn, they could see that something had been caught in their trap, but it wasn’t until they got near they were able to discover that it was most definitely not a pheasant.
It was a possum.
Please note, in Oregon, we do not say opossum, we say possum. If you say opossum where you live, that is fine–even though you are wrong.
The possum did not look like this:
possum

It looked like this:
Possum

The possum was not a happy little creature. The possum was a hissing and spitting ball of evil dressed in a giant rat skin. With teeth. Really pointy ones.
Heidi was afraid of the possum.
Heidi’s brother was afraid of getting in trouble.
“Let’s kill it,” he said.
“Okay,” Heidi agreed. “But let’s not hurt it.”
“Okay,” Heidi’s brother said. “That sounds good.”
You see, Heidi and her brother may have had murder on the mind, but they didn’t actually want to injure anything–even a soul-sucking rodent demon.
Their solution was to create a pair of weapons, items they could “stab” the possum with, but without actually breaking its skin.

Weapon of Mass Annoyance

Heidi and her brother (mostly her brother) crafted their weapons with more items pilfered from the forbidden shed (and the less forbidden silverware drawer).
Once their lances were ready they used them to poke the ferocious beast.
Heidi did not poke hard.
Her brother did not poke hard.
Both hoped the beast would sense their intent and oblige them by dying. That way they could avoid getting in trouble.
The possum had other plans.

possum mouth

If you would like to see a very accurate photo of what the animal actually looked like, click here.
After several moments of trying to annoy the possum to death, Heidi and her brother realized they needed adult help. They faced the music and told their mom about the monster in the garden. Heidi’s dad came home from work and shot it sent the possum to live on a rainbow farm, far in the country.
Heidi grew up a little bit that day.
She was sadder.
She was wiser.
And her smile developed a tiny hint of evil around the edges.

Heidi, age 7

Possums beware.

The End
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*Yes, we really did catch frogs with fish hooks. We tied colored yarn to our hooks, then standing on a highway bridge over a creek (because every successful childhood includes playing, unsupervised, on the highway) we lowered our hooks and danced the yarn in front of frogs’ faces. They always took the bait. We’d reel them up, remove the hook, load up our backpacks, and take home dozens of new friends. Isn’t that how everyone does it?

In Which We Explore Heidi’s Fear of Dolls (And Giraffes)

Yesterday, my family and I found ourselves smack dab in the middle of Sisters, Oregon.
What does one do when finding oneself in a situation like this? One must go shopping.
Newt requested that we get ourselves to a candy shop toot-suite.

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The last time we were in Sisters, there was a fairly large candy store, however, things will change when you are not looking. The location is now a handmade furniture store–considerably less tasty. We were informed that a local antique shop had taken over the role of town candy supplier so we headed up the road and entered the creepiest store on the planet.

Here is just a small sampling of why it deserves that title:

Hitler Stamps–Never Used

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The Racism Cabinet

The Hall of Sharp Things

All it wants is your love. And your soul.

Shirley Temple–Headlining in Heidi’s Nightmares

I am both fascinated and terrified by dolls. The way they stare at you with those soulless eyes…
(Note: I actually gave an involuntary shudder when I typed that. Just so you know.)

I have never enjoyed dolls all that much, though I can remember three from my childhood that I played with. The one I liked most one of those rag dolls that was, um, reversible? a topsy-turvy doll. Anyone remember those? It was a little white-skinned, fair-haired doll on one side, but when you flipped it over and pulled the dress down, it became a little black doll with curly hair. I liked her because she had a secret. I was too young to know about Siamese twins, but if I had, that would have likely been a draw as well.
(I found a picture of a topsy-turvy doll here. I also found this one and am now scarred for life. I dare you to click it.)

When I was eight, all the girls at my school were desperate for Cabbage Patch Dolls. I caved to the peer pressure and begged for one too. My mom hinted that I would get one for my birthday–and I did.
A homemade one.
My mom worked really hard on it and I love her for trying to make her little girl’s dream come true, but readers? That doll was scary. I could feel its painted-on eyes staring at me through the night. I buried it in a pile of stuffed animals and tried not to think about it.

The most memorable doll was the only one I ever really loved. It was a Kewpie Doll given to me by my grandma. Yes, I know Kewpie Dolls are among the creepiest of the creepy (in fact, soul-eater up there is one), but I adored my grandma and didn’t get to see her often. This time she made the 800 mile trip out to visit and brought something just for me. Being near the tail end of a large family, spontaneous gifts didn’t happen very often. I loved my little doll with as much fervor as any five-year-old heart could handle.
That very day we went to the zoo, another unusual occurrence. It was panning out to be the best day of my entire young life. But that was about to change.
I remember cradling my little doll in a blue handkerchief ‘blanket’ my dad loaned to me. I chattered to her about all the animals we were to see. When we went to the giraffe pen, I was thrilled to find that we could get very close to them. In fact, all that separated us was a chain-link fence. One of those incredibly tall creatures ambled right up to us. If I had dared, I could have reached through the links and touched it.
giraffe
It bent its neck over the fence, lowering its head toward me. I froze. It came closer, then closer still. Without warning, it shot out an amazingly long tongue, wrapped it around little Kewpie’s head, and *pop*–decapitated her. I remember screaming, looking down at my little bundled up doll torso.
My dad, who is short like me, reached as high as he could, barely clearing the fence, and throttled the beast. My mom started whacking it with her giant red vinyl purse. My grandma hurried off to find help. I honestly do not remember any siblings being there, but I’m certain they were, and that they were laughing.
Either the giraffe tired of the abuse or he found the plastic less appealing than it looked. He spit my doll’s head out and it landed with a thunk on the pavement. The last thing I remember about that day was looking down and seeing Kewpie grinning up at me, covered in a shining layer of giraffe spit.
This likely explains why, to this day, I do not like dolls.
Or giraffes.

Edited to add: In case you are inclined to doubt the veracity of my story, please go here for confirmation.

P.S. THIS:

I Remember

Newt is growing so fast. I can’t believe she will have a birthday next month. Is it possible that she is almost one? She won’t be a baby much longer…
It’s about eight in the morning on the west coast, but Walt has not gone into work yet. He is going with me to have our new forward facing car seat correctly installed at the dealership. Right now, he is out on the driveway, cleaning out the car.
I’m inside, in our bedroom, getting Newt dressed for the day. I hear the phone ring and walk over to answer. The caller ID informs me that it is Walt’s mom. I cradle the phone on my shoulder so I have both hands free to snap Newt’s onesie.
Good morning, Bonnie.
Heidi, are you watching tv?
I hear fear in her voice. No. Why? What’s going on?
The Twin Towers in New York were both hit by planes. They have fallen down. America is under attack.

I don’t understand.

What kind of planes? Were they some sort of military plane? Did some country declare war on us? In my mind, all I can imagine are big WWII bombers, flying in formation over New York City.
I don’t turn on the tv. I can’t. I need to tell Walt first. He lived in New Jersey for two years. The World Trade Center was just across the harbor from him. He’ll understand what’s going on…
…but he doesn’t.

The Twin Towers have fallen over? That’s not possible, Heidi. You have no idea how big they are. My mom must have gotten it wrong.
He rushes inside ready to hear the news confirm that the impossible has not happened. To hear them say that it is all a big misunderstanding, that the world has not been turned upside down… I follow behind, holding our baby.

Image source: FEMA Report

Image source: Unknown

We sit in stunned silence, too shocked to speak, as the images sear themselves forever into our minds. Confusion reigns supreme. It wraps itself like a cloak around the news anchors desperately trying to report facts, when facts are in short supply…
around the dazed bystanders, covered in dust and walking like zombies…
around me.
Why did this happen? Who would do this?
What kind of world will my baby grow up in?

After a few moments, Walt switches off the television; we have an appointment to keep. Car seats are important. We want our baby to be safe, yet I can’t help but wonder if we are fooling ourselves.
We  don’t speak much on the ride over.  We just listen.  The car radio is much the same as the television. No one knows anything, but speculation continues.
Is there a significance to the date? Nine-eleven for nine-one-one?
How many thousands have been killed?
How many are trapped, waiting for rescue?

I resolve to go give blood later that day. I want to do more, but what?  There is no answer…
I pray for the victims, the families, America.
Later, we are home again. The television is on. I am both repulsed by what I see and compelled to keep watching. I can’t seem to stop crying, both from sorrow and pride.
People jumping from the upper floors…
The heroes of flight 93…
Families holding hopeful photos of missing loved ones…
Tributes to the police, fire-fighters, and Port Authority…
Stirring words of comfort from both Rudy Giuliani and President Bush…
A fiery, gaping hole in the Pentagon…
The news rolls on. I am not the same.
In the days to come, I will feel a greater connection to my fellow humans. I will swell with pride at the sight of flags being posted all over town. People will treat each other more gently. Americans will feel united in a new way. New facts will come to light, but there will be few real answers.
I will worry.
And then slowly, things will begin to “normalize”. The flags will come down. Tempers will flare. Our country will become more divided than ever. Most of us will commit the crime of forgetting.
I will commit the crime of forgetting.
Who can think of death, and terror and loss when there are bills to pay and dinner to be made?
And yet, there were so many. 3,497 people died that day. To them I say, I’m sorry.
And for them, I take time to I remember.

Remember with me this weekend. Learn more about the victims of 9-11.

Adventures of Heidi – Outdoor Edition

Read other Adventures of Heidi stories here.
Once upon a time there was a Heidi. When you were as old as Heidi was in this story, you were only eight. Nine if you were a late bloomer.
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Heidi’s mom cut her hair. Heidi’s mom was not drunk when she used her haircutting “skills” to create Heidi’s “hairstyle”, but she might as well have been.
Sometimes people would say to Heidi’s parents, “That’s a good looking boy you have there!”
This was offensive to Heidi for three reasons:

  1. To the best of her knowledge, Heidi has never been a boy.
  2. Heidi was wearing earrings!  How could the people not notice the totally feminine earrings?!
  3. Even mistaken for a boy, Heidi was not all that good looking.  She knew the people were just trying to be polite.

Heidi had eight brothers and sisters. At the time of this story, only Heidi and two brothers were living at home. Heidi’s parents wanted to have all of the siblings get together. At the same time. At the same place. Eight out of the nine children agreed to meet in Utah for a camp out. One sister wisely declined.
Sidenote: Heidi’s siblings have still never managed to all be in the same place at the same time. Heidi fears for what might happen if they were. It is possible that a hole would be ripped in the space-time continuum. Or that someone would get their feelings hurt and leave in a huff.
Anyway, Heidi went on the family camp out, because she was eight (or nine) and had no other choice. Besides she was a good little boy girl and wouldn’t want to defy her parents.
At the time.
There would be plenty of time for that as Heidi got older.
Many of Heidi’s siblings were much older than Heidi. They were married with children of their own. Some of their children were not much younger than Heidi.
I interrupt this story for a joke: Do you know what is special about a Mormon wedding? The bride is not pregnant… but her mother is! wah wah wah wah waaaah!
On this camp out, one of Heidi’s brothers thoughtlessly brought his daughter, Brooke. Brooke was Heidi’s nemesis because:

  1. She was little (emphasizing Heidi’s no-longer-littleness).
  2. She was cute (see above).
  3. She had long, dark, curly hair.
  4. No one ever thought she was a boy.

Heidi tried not to be jealous, but could not help rejoicing when it was deemed that Heidi and her 11 year old brother were old enough to sleep out by the fire. Alone. Without Brooke.
After a few dozen s’mores, everyone else went to bed in campers.
Heidi’s brother was recovering from mono and slept about 42 hours a day. He dropped off right away and began to snore. Loudly.
Heidi looked at the stars for awhile, then closed her eyes and began to drift off.
Adventures of Heidi - Camping
Suddenly! Heidi heard a noise!
Adventures of Heidi - Camping
It was a VERY LOUD crunching noise. Not totally unlike a giant gnawing on a skull a larger than average person stomping through leaves.
Heidi was no dummy. She knew the law. If there is a boogie-man out to get you and you close your eyes very tight and lie very still, he will be unable to see you.
Adventures of Heidi - Camping
The crunching grew louder. It seemed to come from all around the campsite.
Heidi risked a peek.
The campsite was being attacked by malformed lizard silhouettes! skunks!
Adventures of Heidi - Camping
Heidi clamped her eyes down tight. There must have been a hundred at least five of them!
What choice did Heidi have but to lie still and wait for morning?
She did not move a muscle. She did not open her eyes. Even when she felt paws on the side of her sleeping bag.
Adventures of Heidi - Camping
Eventually, Heidi must have passed out from fear. When morning came, the skunks were gone.
Heidi could not wait to tell her family about her terrifying ordeal.
Their response was unexpected.
Yeah, right.
I think you dreamed it.
Her mono-stricken brother was awakened questioned. He had slept through it.
Nothing could convince them of the truth. Heidi had spent the night being held hostage by a roving gang of skunks and no one believed her!
Later, Heidi’s family had a family award ceremony. Why? Who knows.
Brook, Heidi’s nemesis, received none other than the Little Miss Sunshine Award. It was a big bag of candy.

Not the actual Little Miss Sunshine Award.
Heidi won the Stretches the Truth Award. Here is her prize:

The moral of this story is: Um… er…
Okay, so this story has no moral. It is completely hopeless pointless.

In other news, Newt and I are going camping this weekend. Walt has to work. I hope there are no skunks.

Epilogue: Brooke grew up to be a lovely woman, despite being spoiled by too much love and candy.

The End

PS: Here is actual photo evidence of the camp out. So you can not say I made it up. I’m the blonde boy girl on the the left.
Adventures of Heidi - Camping

Bridges

When I was about 16 I had a conversation with my mom that went something like this:

Me: Mom, can I [insert ridiculous request here]?
Mom: No.
Me: But Mooo-ooom, Harmonie gets to do it!
Mom: Well, if Harmonie jumped off a bridge, would you want to do that too?
Me: Mom! Harmonie did jump off a bridge today. Right after I did.

Here in Oregon, where I grew up, the North Fork of the Santiam River was a huge summer attraction to my friends and I. It was cool and it was deep, just perfect for jumping off the overpass bridge.

I hadn’t been up there for years, but early this week Newt and I got the itch for some summer fun. We made arrangements with some friends to meet up at one of the most beautiful places on the Santiam in Oregon – Three Pools.

On the drive up, I choose not to stop at the bridge (because that is dangerous! what was I thinking?!). Maybe on the way back, I think, we’ll stop and take a look.
We arrive and I look around. It shouldn’t be a surprise, but it is. After all these years, nothing has changed.
Three Pools, North Santiam

The weather is cooler than I had hoped for – I’m not sure if the thermometer will even crawl past 70º, but that doesn’t stop the kids from jumping into the cold mountain water.
Three Pools, North Santiam

Three Pools, North Santiam

I’m not at all sure I want to brave that cold water, but eventually I give in. I wade in freezing-cold chest-high water (screaming like a little girl) for an awkward photo op:
Three Pools, North Santiam
And then run right back out for my towel.
Three Pools, North Santiam
There I sit, with the other mamas, talking about homeschooling and parenting, recipes and books while the kids have their adventures.
Three Pools, North Santiam
I realize something as I sit there. Something has changed about this place.
Me.
The last time I was here, I was young and fearless with the world at my feet. I was living dangerously close to the edge, desperately wanting to jump into my life even if it meant a cold swim against a hard current.
Now, as a woman in my thirties, I’m living a different sort of life than the one I may have imagined at 16. I’d rather lounge in the sun, take my time, enjoy stillness when and where I can find it.
My 16 year old self would probably find me boring.
I would tell her not to confuse adrenaline with happiness.
She wouldn’t listen, choosing instead to learn everything the hard way.
I look over at my own daughter and hold out hope that she will be different – that when she comes to the bridges in her life, she’ll at least look before she leaps.
Three Pools, North Santiam

Three Pools, North Santiam
My 16 year old self laughs at me for the thought and I choose not to stop by the bridge on the way home either.

Three Pools, North Santiam

I think the bleachers must be made of iron

I’ll admit that it’s been a few years since we went to a Fourth of July rodeo, but how is it possible that in that amount of time, this
rodeo 08
Turned into this
4th of July Rodeo
Walt and some of the other police officers from his agency were working security detail at the rodeo all weekend. On Friday night, Newt and I went out to say hello. Since he was busy looking for bad guys, busting up fights and making sure the drunks fine people coming out of the beer garden weren’t causing any problems, he couldn’t join us for the carnival and rodeo. However, he did look quite nice in his uniform, so I forgive him.
Last time Newt quickly became bored of the actual rodeo and started itching for the Ferris wheel. This time, after saying hello to Walt, I took Newt on the Ferris wheel straight away.
Here is a little photo essay of the experience:
4th of July Rodeo
Thank you, Mama. I really, really wanted to ride the Ferris wheel.
4th of July Rodeo
Sure looks a lot higher close up…
4th of July Rodeo
This is going to be…fun?
4th of July Rodeo
Is it supposed to move like that?
4th of July Rodeo
Don’t move, Mama! You could shake us!
4th of July Rodeo
Don’t take pictures! You could drop your camera!
4th of July Rodeo
Don’t look over the side!
4th of July Rodeo
Ahhhhh!
4th of July Rodeo
Thanks, Mama. That was fun!

(Sidenote: I absolutely love that she calls me Mama.)
After the Ferris wheel it was time for the rodeo to begin.
4th of July Rodeo
Newt was mesmerized. She hardly blinked through the whole thing. Even the lady in front of us getting pooped on by a bird didn’t distract her (much). We sat on the hard bleachers for three hours, not hardly even moving until after the fireworks.
Newt has new dreams of barrel racing and rodeo court.
Me? Two days later, I still have a sore bum.
Neither one of us can wait for the next one, but I think I’ll bring a cushion.

Going Home

When I was a little girl, the town I grew up in had a big parade every spring. I loved it. We lived close enough that my brothers and I would go early and ride our bikes along the route, searching for just the right place to sit. Proximity to the ten-cent hot dog stand was high on our list of important factors. We tried to remember to wear clothes with pockets for stashing all the the candy and coupons that would be thrown. And I still remember the year a local chiropractor gave out coupons for a free elephant ride after the parade. It was a highlight of my childhood.
Even though I don’t live there any more, we live close enough to go to the parade every year. Walt, Newt and I drove over early so we could get a spot close to the $2 hot-dog stand. I don’t eat a whole lot of meat anymore, but I did snitch a bite. Yum!
Here we are, waiting for the fun to start:
Iris Fest Parade 2011
Iris Fest Parade 2011
The sound of sirens always signals the start of the parade as local Police and Fire Departments lead out. Then came the sound of marching bands.
Iris Fest Parade 2011
We loved these guys. Their costumes were really cool and there was a guy marching alongside the riders doing rope tricks, but I missed getting a picture.
Iris Fest Parade 2011
On second thought, I think I did capture a bit of him and his rope, right up front.
There were no elephants, but I think that’s the way this lady liked it:
Iris Fest Parade 2011
I wonder if this is the bus I threw up on
Iris Fest Parade 2011
Instead of pockets, Newt brought a paper bag for candy. Sadly, we were positioned right between groups of little kids. No one wanted to throw any to Newt.

Iris Fest Parade 2011

Until I started heckling.
Candy! We need some candy right here!”
It started coming more frequently after that, even if Newt had to run for it.
Iris Fest Parade 2011
Hey! We’ll take one of those little toys too!
Iris Fest Parade 2011
And then there was this, my worst nightmare come to life:
Iris Fest Parade 2011
We had such a great time. The parade gave me the sweetness of nostalgia and such a great sense of community. I miss that where we live now.
Iris Fest Parade 2011
It’s wonderful to share some of your favorite childhood memories with your own children. As much as I loved our years living on the east coast, it’s nice to be so close to home.
And free candy.

Good Day

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When I was a little girl, I received a journal for my birthday. I faithfully wrote in it every day for a week or two before forgetting about it. Months later, when I found it in my closet (under my giant plastic charm necklace and fake Cabbage Patch doll), I sort of freaked. I had missed days in my journal! A lot of days! Crap! This would not do! What would my posterity think of me?! !!
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I wasn’t about to let my future great-grandchildren know what a terrible slacker I was, and so I did what any reasonable person would.
I lied.
I gathered up a bunch of different pens (to add a realistic touch of variety) and started fabricating journal entries, one for every single day that I had missed. However, I wanted my lies to be somewhat honest (what good person doesn’t?) so I kept my entries generic enough that they could possibly have been true:
September 4, 1983 – Today was a good day. I was happy.
September 5, 1983 – Today was a bad day. I was sad.

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After several pages of this, my little hand must have cramped up, because I started shortening my entries to merely say:
12/14/83 – Good day.
12/15/83 – Bad day.

And so on…
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I filled in every day for months. Won’t my posterity find me strange crazy interesting?
I tell you this story, because I find that with the exception of one little post from a couple of days ago, nearly half a year has gone by without me writing here. But instead of going back and creating a bunch of good day/bad day posts, I thought I’d just stop in and say hi.
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I’ve had some really amazing, good days and a fair share of heartbreaking, bad days over the last several months, but they are in the past. Today is all that really matters, right?
And today? Today was just fine.
Easter Newt

PS: In case you are wondering, Newt and I do have matching t-shirts. They say “I never got my acceptance letter from Hogwarts, so I’m leaving the Shire and becoming a Jedi. source
If you like Harry Potter t-shirts, check out my freezer paper tutorial.

Rootin' Tootin' Valentine

The best most memorable Valentine I ever got was from Billy Sucow in the second grade. It looked something like this:

And said “Cowgirl, you’re terrific!”
Being the daughter of a “real cowboy”, I remember feeling so impressed. After all, how was Billy to know I was half-cowgirl?

What Valentines do you remember?