Snowflakes

Winter Memories

The past few winters have been cold but there has not been much snow. When I was younger I remember walls and mountains of snow. Some mornings the snow would be drifted up our front door so high I wondered if we were ever going to get out of our house.

In school we would create these HUGE snow forts and houses. The one game I remember that we would play was "star trek". We made this space ship that had a bunch of different rooms and we even had one of those "beam" machines. If the teachers would have let us we would have stayed out and played in the snow all day.

I can't remember why but the one year they piled all the snow from the streets behind the school and they created this huge hill that went the whole length of the football field. It was the perfect hill for a snowball fight war. Of course it was frowned upon to throw snowballs---for good reason, they really hurt. But one day when the snow was not so icy Mr. Proznick joined in our snowball fight.

I have always wanted to write a story about there being a snowstorm at school and everyone gets trapped in the school for a weekend and what chaos would happen!! Maybe I'll still write it.

I grew up in a house with a flat roof which is very unpractical for the winter. The snow would pile and pile and get very heavy and sometimes it would cause our ceiling to dip and leak, so every winter a couple times a year we have to climb on the roof of the house and shovel the snow off of it. A couple winters ago my mom, my brother and I were on the roof shoveling snow and instead of using the ladder Adam and I jumped off the roof into our front lawn of fluff. We sunk right to the grass but it was awesome.

The snow lightly falls tonight and I think about all the good memories of snow and I can't wait to make more!!

 

I have memories stored away in photographs, in the back of my mind and in the box of notebooks in a box in the closet, some of those memories haunt me, some make me laugh and others make me cry or smile. The one thing I'm positive about is that I am glad I took so many pictures and wrote down the moments in my life that mattered.

I remember my first notebook/journal. It was a blue doutang with loose leaf paper in it. I hid it in between the mattress on my bed. I wrote about the boys I had crushes on and the teachers who I liked and the teachers who I hated. I wrote about the fights I had with my parents and my friends. It documented my life in a time when NOTHING made any sense. I tried to make sense of my world by writing it down, asking questions. Not until now that I re read that faded, tattered doutang do I understand why that world was so hard.

10 years later I still keep a journal/notebook with pretty covers, and I continue to write about my relationships, family, friends. I document my life now as an adult, as a  teacher, and soon to be wife. They will go into that box when I am finished and will be a place I can go to and look back at this part of my life.

I've been thinking a lot about being a writer. I have always had this calling to be a writer, but thinking back I remember more of the hurt and the criticism that comes with being a writer then the good. A poem of mine ripped apart by someone I loved, my personal thoughts read and used against me were just a couple of the hard times I went through as a writer. It is still hard to always be honest and truthful and to share my life, my stories, my words with everyone/anyone.
Writing has also helped me to say this things that wouldn't come out of my mouth, to help me express my thoughts and feelings and to help me become the person I am today.

I lost my words for a while, they are coming back to me in strange ways, I welcome them back into my life and hope to be sharing more with you soon. Writing is a part of my past, present and future.

The clock on the wall finally hit 5pm. The work week was over. I finished up the last few documents for the week and turned off my computer. Only 15 minutes later and the office was already deserted. Just me and the buzzing sounds of the florescent lights. I grabbed my keys, jacket and purse to head home to sit on the couch with a glass of red wine and a good book. I smile at the thought of my Friday evening plans. The week had been busy with meetings and deadlines and news that my favourite uncle had been diagnosed with cancer.

The parking lot was eerie with one lone car left. My purple dodge calibar. It beeps as I push the unlock button on my keys. As I get closer it looks like my tire is flat. I curse to myself. Not another thing! As I get even closer I see that not only 1 tire is flat but all four. With slash marks in them.

"God Damit " I scream." Why me!? Who the hell would do that to my car.?!"

I reach inside my purse to grab my cell phone and try calling my Dad. Voice mail. Okay what about my brother.....voicemail. Shit. Justin is working nights tonight, I'll try him anyways just to cry.....voicemail.

I look down at my BlackBerry thinking of who else I could call and see the low battery light flashing and without notice the phone shuts off. Battery too low...Well I guess I'm walking now. Its not that far home and maybe I can catch a cab on my walk.

The early fall sun was setting behind the tall evergreen trees that lined the sidewalk of the building. I wish I had a sweater with me. My heels clicked on the sidewalk as I walked home. The residential area where my office was quiet, no traffic, no other pedestrians. As I walked my mind wandered back to my glass of wine and a good book. I would be home alone tonight and I needed that me time. I wondered why I didn't walk to work more often the scenery was beautiful. The large trees that lined the street canopied over the street creating a large umbrella. The trees were starting to loose their leaves as the seasons changed.

I was brought out of my daydream by the sound of rustling in the leaves that lay beneath the trees. I turn to look over my shoulder but I don't see anyone. I pick up the pace and tell myself I'm just hearing things. I hear the sound again and this time with a soft whine. I stop and turn around to watch the leaves. They start to move and out popped the head of a tiny grey kitten. I laughed at myself being afraid of a tiny kitten. I crouch down and call out to the kitten. Slowly it came to me and I took it in my arms. It was so soft and surprisingly tame. I checked to see if it had a tag. It did. Its name was Elmo and there was a phone number to call. Unfortunately my cell phone was dead so I would have to take him home with me. I held Elmo close to my chest like a baby stroking his back. He purred so loud and strong it tickled my neck.

We finally reached home and the second I opened the room Elmo jumped out of my arms and started exploring. We played tag for a bit through the living room and kitchen trying to catch him to get the phone number off his tag. I finally caught him and he began to cry. I grabbed a dish out of the cupboard and filled it was some water. I dialled the number and placed Elmo down. He got more water on the floor then in his mouth. The phone rang many times and then a man answered the phone clearly out of breath.
"Hello, Smith residence"
"Hi, My name is Victoria. While I was walking home tonight I found a cat hiding in the leaves and I think its yours"
"YOU HAVE ELMO??? Thank goodness we thought he was gone forever, we have been out looking in the neighbourhood all night. We can't thank you enough"
"Well he sort of found me. He is here safe I'm home now. My address is 65 Preston Ave if you would like to get him"
"We will be right there" and he hung up the phone.
Victoria poured herself a glass of wine, grabbed her book and her new friend and curled up on the couch. Elmo nested himself in Victoria's lap.
The doorbell rang at 65 Preston Ave and Victoria took Elmo to the door. There stood a man and a young girl. It looked like she had been crying. "Oh my Elmo" she cried out as she reached her arms out.
Victoria reluctantly handed the kitten over.
The father thanked her again and they left. Victoria watched her new friend go back to his home. She sighed. Closed the door and walked back to the couch, grabbed the cordless phone and dialled up her fiancé Justin. "Justin speaking" he answered.
Without even a hello Victoria asked "Can we get a kitten?"
Justin laughed on the other end. "A stuffed animal one for sure"
"No a real one, that purrs" Victoria explained.
Justin still laughing replied. "What are we going to name it?"
"Elmo the second" Victoria stated strongly.
"The second? How can we have a second without having a first" Justin questioned.
"Just because we can!" Victoria replied back.

Here is one of the creative writing short stories that I have been writing.


The alarm rings beside me for the second time. I don't want to get up, I have so much to do around the house I just want to stay in bed. I press the snooze button one more time. As I lay there in the comfort of my quilt staring at the ceiling going over my to-do list in my head I see a small light out of the corner of my eye. I sit up slowly and look at the direction of my closet. The crack at the bottom of the door is glowing an blue light. I wonder if I'm still dreaming and I pinch myself. Ouch that hurt, okay this is real. I wonder what is inside.
Carefully I pull open the closet door ready for something to jump out at me. I fling open the door and jump back. Nothing jumps out...I peek inside and there is a door on the back wall of my closet. The whole door is glowing. It is pounding like my heart, fast, thumpthump- thumpthump. I pinch myself to see if I'm really awake. Ouch it hurts, so this isn't a dream. I know this door wasn't here before. I have explored every inch of this closet trying to jam all my clothes inside of it. I stare at the door glowing and pounding, I can feel it drawing me near. I can smell the clean fresh smell of rain and the sweet smell of blooming flowers and ripe fruit. The smell is intoxicating and my heart relaxes as I breathe in deep.
As I step closer to the door it opens on its own. I am no longer afraid of what is on the other side. My feet seem to be moving towards the glowing light at the end of a long hall. As I move slowly down the hall the smells become stronger and I can hear the sound of water flowing. My feet move quicker towards the inviting smells, sounds and sights of this mystery room.
I round the corner and enter a small but luxurious room. The walls painted a light yellow are covered in paintings of ocean landscapes. The one wall has floor to ceiling windows that let in the rays of the early morning sunshine. The room contained a few pieces of furniture made of dark wood. A four post bed, covered in silk sheets and large pillows was placed in the center of the large room. A large wardrobe contained fairy tale princesses gowns in all colors of the rainbow. I strip from my pyjamas and reach for the purple gown. It fit like a glove. Spinning around and around laughing like a child I flop down onto the bed staring at the ceiling. Breathing it all in I think to myself. I must be dreaming.
The sound of footsteps on the wooden floor startle me to a seated position. Before me stood the most handsome man I had ever seen. His dark hair swept over his chocolate eyes that sparkled in the sun. His strong jaw line framed a large smile of perfectly white teeth. His muscles from his broad chest and large arms were visible through his tight suit.
"Hello my Princess" his deep voice washed over my ears.
"hhhii" I stutter back.
"Would you like to take a ride with me?" he motions to his white horse standing outside the windows.
I smile and nod my head. His hand reaches out to mine and we walk hand and hand.
"I hope this isn't a dream" I whisper to myself.
"Dreams do come true" Prince Charming whispers back.

Start with my toes, curled and callused, nails painted the colours of the rainbow. Tapping to the music.

Bruises on my shins and on my knees, walking into tables and falling from a jump. I am such a klutz There were kisses from spring grass and autumn leaves that took away some of the pain.
Strong legs, muscular from years of my passion to skate. There are traces of lips and fingertips, lingering and soft.

The curve of my hips sway back and forth as I walk. I sometimes curse them as I struggle into a pair of pants. The ideal place to hands to rest while dancing, pull me closer and closer.

My stomach tells stories of nights spent on the bathroom floor that summer I turned 19. Move fast from here, it hurts. Pass over the middle, I'll be back, tonight I will take the long way home.

My shoulder hold the wight of the world, all my fears and a sleepy head. Tension released as be rubs lotion on my back. My neck like a princess swan reserved for his kisses, often draped in a necklace.

My head in constant conflict with my heart. It holds lyrics, poems, useless trivia, phone numbers, directions, movies how to's and how not to's: love, make cookies, play piano. All of it in flies for future reference.

My hair finally touches my shoulders sometimes curly, but often straight. I've always had bangs forever and over. Shades of purple and red peek out from the dark brown. I was blond for a bit, not my thing. I love when he runs his fingers through it.

My eyes changing from shades of blue to shades of green sparkling in the sunlight. My vision is blurred without my glasses but I dream clean, beautiful images at night. My eyes are wells ready to overflow with tears at any moment, happy or sad.

I scrunch my nose at things I don't like. There are smells of fresh chocolate chip cookies, the ice at the rink, sweaty dance shoes. Frequent nose bleeds when the weather turns cold and dry.

My lips covered in Lip Smackers. My tongue often stuck behind my teeth, often very quiet, but my lips speak words, sentences of longing, questions, happy, sad. Pillow talk about our day and the deep unanswerable questions. I sing loudly in my car and in the shower. My lips touching his, we kiss in odd numbers, every morning and every night.

Down my arms to my hands. Usually interlocked in his like puzzle pieces, his ring on my finger. Don't crack your knuckles my mom always said. My hands have filled a lot of notebooks. Paint under my nails, palms hurt from swinging a bit. My hands knit scarves and make supper. My hands run through his hair and down his strong back squeezing him close. Our hearts beating in sync.

My heart hold the most stories. It was many scars from being dangled by a strong then dropped shattered in a million pieces. Finally found my soul mate and the pieces became whole. My heart guides me, it is where I go for advice. My heart sometimes feels to big inside my tiny chest and often feels like bursting with joy or heartache.



***There is more to this map, but I just can't write anymore, but I wanted to share...

Last night was the second meeting of my writing group. We spent the first part of our meeting just talking about writing in our lives and how we felt writing the activties from last week were for us and how we felt writing at home the past week. I have been making writing a habit for me so writng everyday comes easier for me now. The other women some of them struggled with the idea of writing everyday and where to start. I think my morning pages really help get me started in the day and the fact that I am a "student" that I have the time right now and I don't have a family so my free time is more then others. But even then I still have to schedule time to sit and right and justify it in my head why I should be writing and not cleaning or doing laundry---both of which need to get done. Somehow I have realized that by spending 10 mins writing in her, my notebook, whereever I am helping myself and that there will always be time for the cleaning, laundry but if I let the moment pass on a chance to write its gone.
Last night we each shared something that we wrote from our homework. It got pretty emotional and tears were flowing. I never thought I would be able to read something so personal aloud to really a group of strangers. But it was a lot of fun and the women are all so supportive and caring. I'm really glad I joined this group. It's given me a reason to put the pen to the paper and to open my mind to new ideas.
Thanks Ladies!

tearing myself apart
just trying to become whole
looking in the mirror I see
everyone but me

Here I stand
dreaming hard
the rain pouring down on me

I'm in the middle of something
I don't understand

just want to sit in the passenger seat
and enjoy the view

Writers Block.
I have a paper due tomorrow in my class about teaching writing and I am just stuck. I enjoy the topic- I'm writing about the power of writing in a journal for self discovery and healing. I have found lots of great books on the topic and devoured them each one confirming my belief that writing is good for you! But I lack the ability to make it all fit together and make any sense at all. I feel like I'm talking about too many things; my personal experience with using a journal and how it has helped me, my thoughts about how a journal might have helped a student I taught in internship, The Freedom Writers movie/book and how writing changed them, examples of studies, personal accounts of people in the books I read about how their lives changed because of writing. Then I have to connect it to school and how I would use it in my classroom. My biggest block is my lack of confidence to write academically. I am in a class full of English majors, with a Prof who knows more about any writing topic then I ever will and I well I just write because it hurts not to. I have always had trouble with the mechanical and grammar stuff and I thought this class might have helped me out but we have had presentations on theorists the whole time who demised the grammar and mechanics but I get dinged on it anyway.
I want to teach the process of writing, prewrite, draft, more drafts if need revise edit etc because I believe that produces the writing that the student will be most proud of and it mirrors what "real" writers do. I personally have not been through that process since grade 6. I have a hard time re reading my work and fixing it. I get mad and want to throw it all away and with my deadline tomorrow I can't do that. I have this desire in me to write stories, poems, a book for the "world" to see but I am scared. Scared that my words are nothing, scared that my story is old, scared of myself. I feel like I have lost my creativity somewhere along my life. I signed up for a creative writing class that starts next month---I want to write I really really do I just need some direction and focus and I hope this class is a start.

I should get ready for my day before it starts without me.

I spend a lot of my time searching for teaching resources- I am really interested in teaching writing resources right now and on my search tonight I found a wonderful website TWO WRITING TEACHERS who do amazing things in the classroom with writing. While on thier site I found a challenge for writing. It is called the Slice of life writing challenge. The definition of a slice of life writing peice is:
A slice of life story is a category for a story that portrays a "cut-out" sequence of events in a character's life. It may or may not contain any real plot, and often has no exposition, action, conflict, or denouement, with an open ending. It usually tries to depict the every-day life of ordinary people. The term slice of life is actually a (more or less) dead metaphor: it often seems as if the author had taken a knife and cut out a slice of the lives of some characters, without concern for narrative form.
I was talking to my friend Tracy tonight about her 30 day Yoga Challenge and how she got through it. She talked about being accountable to someone, and my idea was to write in my notebook for 30 days but it's hard to be accountable to anyone for that unless I could find someone to bug to everyday to see if I have written anything yet. I feel that this blog and this slice of life challenge is exactly what I need to get motivated and to complete my goal of writing for 30days and hopefully making it a habit that I can't break! So here goes nothing.

I am not a morning person on Saturday mornings, my phone started buzzing at 8:00 telling me to get up and get to the skating rink. One of my students that I taught during internship was competing in a figure skating compitition and I wanted to go watch.
I walked into the rink and memories and feelings of nervousness and excitment came flooding back to me of when I was still competing. I had tears in my eyes thinking about how much I miss it.
I missed my girl skate which was disappointing but we had a good visit. and I stayed at the rink for a good hour hanging out and taking in all the excitment. I wanted to run home and get my skates on and my purple sparkly dress and skate to center ice and perform. I bought myself a new pair of skate guards (purple of course). I wonder if they have a "used to be's" skating compitition out there. :P That would be something I would love to do.
I want to say thank you to my mom for making all my beautiful costumes and driving me to all my skating compititions and test days.
That is a slice of my life today.