The Myth Behind the Perfect Imperfection.

A week or so ago, while on a group trip to Duluth, one of my good friends and I spent a good portion of our night arguing about the word that is "perfect," and it's existence in our society today.

According to Dictionary.com, the word perfect is defined as being:

Perfectper·fect

[adj., n. pur-fikt; v. per-fekt] –adjective

1. conforming absolutely to the description or definition of an ideal type: a perfect sphere; a perfect gentleman.

I personally don't believe it has a place, that there is no such thing.

But I suppose like any other word in the English language, it could heavily depend on the context in which it is used.

I don't have enough fingers and toes to count the number of times my parents have made it exceptionally clear to me just how imperfect my decisions and actions can be.  Whose hasn't?

More than once during high school a paper was handed back to me with an "A" written under my name on the front page of the document I had handed in. 

An "A" on a paper is considered a "perfect" score.

But is that in itself even a realistic judgment?

I handed that paper in to one teacher and one teacher alone.  I bet you, that if I had taken that same exact paper to four or five other teachers, at least one of them wouldn't have liked it as much.  Eventually one of them would have told me to change something about my writing to make it better fit their own personal taste.

So the word "perfect" is, in itself, truly an imperfect thing. 

An unrealistic adjective created by people to describe something that meets their own personal satisfaction. 

What tastes like a steak cooked to "perfection" to one person may be grossly over-done to another.  We as people have such different tastes in anything and everything, in ways of seeing and thinking about things, that the word "perfect" can't possibly exist as being the same thing in the eyes of every person.

Yet it is used as a universal adjective, and always has been seen as a word that anyone can use to describe anything they please. So the next time someone complains about your cooking, don't take it too deeply to heart, they probably wouldn't have made anything you would've wanted to eat anyways.

The next time you get an "imperfect" grade on that paper you spent hours the night before critiquing to perfection, go get a second opinion from a different professor before you go breaking your keyboard in half.

Better yet... remind your parents the next time you get scolded for doing something they don't approve of, that realistically there is no way you can meet their expectations of being a perfect child, so you've simply given-up trying.

They can still ground you, and scold you, and hell; they'll probably do both.

But you'll have the sweet satisfaction in the back of your mind knowing that you are technically the only one that made a realistic point during the entire argument.

It's a universal, perfect excuse for any and every occasion.

Thank you, Mr. Webster.

Running from Memories- Everything Happens for a Reason.

"Sometimes, you have to retrace your steps to become
comfortable with the idea that it is a memory for a reason."

Every day that I walk into work, I learn something different about life.

I work at a truck stop on the outskirts of a small town, stuck between cornfields and one long stretch of highway.

I remember my first day there.  I was almost late because I wasn’t familiar with the area (so I thought), and I couldn’t find the gas station.  Turns out I had passed it twice without noticing it. 

My mind contains certain memories like stamps on an envelope.  I remember what the letter was about, but the stamp is the distinct moment about that day that doesn’t seem to make any sense to me until a good deal down the road.

Over a year ago, we were trying to find our friend’s graduation party, but we had passed it because I was complaining about churches being so huge and extravagant.  He was driving and trying to listen to me talk, so neither of us noticed the massive climbing wall on the other side of the road that had been put up by military sergeants at the party.

We drove down the road a little bit more and once we got to the top of the hill; I distinctly remember two things happening.

1)   1) Him saying we needed to turn the jeep around because we were in the wrong place we must have already passed it.

2)   2) Seeing a gas station at the bottom of the hill.

Like a time stamp on my memory I remember thinking that it was an odd place to put a ginormous gas station.  We whipped a U-ey and found the party on the way back at a park we had passed on the opposite side of the road as the church I’d been criticizing earlier.

            There were open, walk-in interviews for my job now, about five months ago.

I walked into the store and filled out an application on a whim.  I was hired three days later and they told me the name of the store I would be positioned at (you don’t have a choice, you go where the company sends or needs you) I walked in just in time on my first day, and met my new boss and some of my new co-workers.   I spent my first day watching training videos. 

My second day I hid in the back and scrubbed the floors. 

And my third day, I finally got to train on my register.

A week or so into my job, I was looking out the window, watching the pumps, and noticed that the street in front of the station turned into a steep, winding hill a little ways up the road. 

My stomach went numb. 

All of a sudden I flashed back, and in my mind I saw a view from the top of that hill, a about a year ago sitting in the passengers side of his jeep, looking at a curiously placed gas station. 

I wanted to quit my job. 

You have to understand at the time, he and I had separated not long before, and I was doing all I could to start over and forget everything that had happened. 

Days later I learned seven miles up the highway was his hometown. 

About a month after that, I was invited to go to the bowling alley on the other side of the trees in our lot and realized it was the bowling alley where he and I had had our first date. 

I started freaking out, doing the best I could to ignore the fact that I was surrounded by things and moments I was trying to forget.

A couple of weeks ago, a boy that I am seeing now visited me at work and asked me what way I was taking home.  I told him I took the highway home, because I was scared to take the hill… “There are no lights.” I didn't tell him my real reasons... but he egged me on for weeks to take that way home, because it would be faster.  And every time I would get to the turn out of the parking lot after my shift, I would stop and think about it, but couldn't make myself turn my wheel right. 

In reality, I just didn’t want to look in my review mirror at the top and flashback.  And I didn’t want to see the park where my friend’s party had been, where we had spent all day and most of the night, until we had to rush home.

Then about a week before thanksgiving, I gutted-up and decided to try that way home.
And I did look in my rear-view mirror to see the station behind me at the top of the hill,
and I did pass the park where the party had been and remembered everything that’d happened that day. 

But now, I take that way home every time I work.  And it isn't really even that much faster.

Because I’ve learned, from the people that I work with, that it is not a bad thing to remember, it is a bad thing to remember and not learn.

Every single person at my work has bad things going on in their lives.  

For one woman, it is a constant, never ending guessing game of chancing her heart being broken once again, because she has faith in the man that has hurt her before to change his ways.

For another girl, she is too young, pretty, and fun to be the most negative girl I’ve ever met. Her boyfriend is a solid support system in her life and I myself can tell he wants nothing more than to always be there for her.

There is a man that is newly married, and already I can tell his marriage is struggling and on the verge of possibly being very unhappy.

There is another girl who settles for less than she deserves, impatient on finding the one that will treat her right.

Listening to all their stories, their pasts and experiences, I’ve been able to, as horrible as it sounds, feel much better about the events in my own life.  There is always someone out there that has had things worse than yourself happen to them, by listening to their stories and observing their attitudes you can learn how not to act, how not to see life, or what not to do. 

Sometimes, you have to retrace your steps to become comfortable with the idea that it is a memory for a reason. 

Memories are not meant to harm you but meant to teach you and lead you somewhere else, to take you back and make you learn what it was that went wrong, so you can avoid it and help other’s avoid similar situations in the future.  If you cannot become comfortable and accepting of your past, there is no way to move on into the present with the ability and mind set to accept anything and everything that is in store to come. 

Posture- What You Say Without Actually Saying Anything

You can tell a lot about a person’s self image as they walk down the hall past you.  Look at how they hold themselves, how they walk and how fast, where their eyes go when you get close.

Do they hunch their shoulders and stare at the floor?  Do they clutch their books to their chest and increase their pace as people pass them.  Do they veer as far to the other side of the hall as far as they can go without falling through an open door.

I was walking down the Medical hall to my next class and a boy in a sweater vest nearly ran into a trophy case.  Not even three minutes later a girl clutched her books to her coat and watched her feet steep one in front of the other.  

My first thought was I hadn’t put on any deodorant, or I’d forgotten to shower.  Maybe I’d wiped my nose and smeared snot all across my face. 

None of those seemed likely.

This got me thinking.  Why do people have lack of self-confidence in the first place?  

I mean if you think about it realistically… None of us look the same.  So what’s the point in worrying about it? 

No one person looks alike, so why do we whine and complain about everything that’s wrong with us when A) we can’t do anything about it and B) we can’t physically make ourselves all look the same, so no matter what “flaws” you have, you will always in one way or another look and act differently than someone else.

I bet you if you asked someone to come up with ten things they hate about themselves it would take them thirty seconds to point at everything they hate on their body.  If you asked them to tell you ten good things about themselves, they’d veer away from physical aspects and list off their talents or abilities instead.

Why can’t people look someone straight in the eye and say hey what’s up? This is how I decided to dress this morning and if you don’t like it, well, quite frankly my dear, I just don’t give a damn. 

I used to be vain about my looks.  I used to spend hours and hours on my hair, make-up, outfits...  I’d stand in front of the mirror with magazines in front of me, trying to get myself as close to the girl in the picture as I could get.   What was the point of that?  I was never going to look exactly like her. We  didn’t look the same naturally much less with ten gallons of eyes shadow weighing down our lids.

So stand-up straight, walk comfortably in your own shoes.  Meet people’s eyes and avoid injury from unexpected open doorways or glass cases.  Because you look stupid when you walk as if your afraid of yourself.  If you don’t have a problem with you, no one else will either.  You might as well respect and see the beauty in your own features and personality.  If you don’t like you… how can you expect anyone else too?

Just a thought.

Make New Friends, But Keep the Old. The New is Silver and the Old is Gold

Italy, 2010

Lizzybeth

I wish there was something I could say

to bring us both back so many yesterdays.

We had our fight, we went our ways

We’re trying to mend it now with the things we say

Each side of the story spills the truth

of our separate and very different youths

I want to take a moment to remind you

of those fun-filled things we used to do

I’m going to put our best times

Into many separate little rhymes;

In hope that the way things used to be

Can once again be more than some sort of ancient history.

***********************************************

I’d sneak quarters from my dad

You’d stuff your pockets with baby-sitting money you already had

You’d ride your bike down my way,

and pick me up along the way

We’d ride to kwick trip, across the street

And buy every candy we’d thought we’d need

We popped in a movie back at your place

And we'd proceed to guiltlessly stuff our face

We laughed and talked till we fell asleep

We’d share everything about our week

Boys and friends we said it all

Those are my favorite conversations that I can recall.

******************************************************

Your basement was our sanctuary

Though things down there could get pretty scary

We walked like egyptians in a circle

We’d dress-up barbies to look like Erkle

We day dreamed about having our own prince

We got all grossed out when people in movies started to kiss

We talked to boys over fake telephones

We barely ever cleaned up before I went home

We spent hours making mansions out of blankets and couches

They’d cave-in and we’d turn into grouches

We sang Sk8ter boi at the top of our lungs

One of many songs we’d danced to and sung

You always did beat me at darts

I’m still fragile on sucking lol so don’t even start :P

We made faire houses out of boxes of kleenex

We found humor in learning we had a weenis

We colored rubber bands and wore them as bracelets

And we’d snap each others harder to see who could take it

We laid on the couch backwards and watched the blood rush to our heads

And we jumped on it so much I think we broke the fold-out bed

We made animals out of colorful beads and strings

We played cat’s cradle till our fingers would sting

Few of many good times shared in that place

If only we could go back to those days

***************************************************

You grabbed a sled and I grabbed a sled

We raced down the hill at such speed we should probably be dead

Jazzy would run after and try to jump on

We would scream and laugh and push at her until she moved on

We’d climb back up the hill just a number of times

Till we’d fall of our sleds and laugh so hard we would cry

Then we made the trek across the lake

We’d tilt our head up, stick our tongues out, and try to catch snow flakes

We went all out building our fort

To protect us from indians, Adam, and enemies of any sort

We called it fort Jazz, after our mascot

She kept following us there and simply wouldn’t stop

It lasted all winter, and through that spring

Who knew how many memories a simple stick fort could bring.

********************************************************

Antooko the monkey, now he’s quite a sight

But not as much as we all were that night

Brownies in the oven, we managed somehow to wait

While we waited for our snack pack of sugar to bake

Then half of the pan one person ate!

I dance like a fool on the mattress laying on the floor

I started singing “squishy” and danced around some more.

Antooko had no choice but to dance as you two watched from close-by

As I made a fool of myself on one of my many sugar highs.

**********************************************************

At the end of each summer we’d head to the pond

We’d sit in the canoe and whine and complain about how fast summer had gone

We wished that the school year wasn’t so long

We’d talk about our plans and reminisce on the things that we’d done

We’d make new goals for ourselves for the new year to come

We’d get stuck in the wind and have difficulty paddling to the other side

I’d paddle wrong or slow and the canoe would turn like a carnival ride.

We always managed to get back in before the sun disappeared behind that horizon line

Signaling the official end to our last day of summer time.

************************************************************

I hope you know what I’m trying to say

We can always have another yesterday

If you are you and me is me

How happy once again we may find ourselves to be

Although this is all hard to understand

You, will remain and always be my best friend

Maybe we are different people, people change

It only is important that our friendship stay the same

Right now it’s in need of a Dora Band-aid

But I know if we work hard, it can be saved

Just like all those beenie-babies we as doctors fixed-up that had no hope

Anything can be cleaned with a little water and your mom’s always good-smelling bathroom soap (:

Strategy

Cards;

I've only been taught the basics.

Casinos;

People say that the only way to come out-on top is to play the hands.

That cards are the only way to win big not basing your chances on sheer luck.

How do you play.

Know how to read faces, predicts others' next moves.

Know your cards, know what to play based on what's laid on the table in front for you to see.

And based on what the others might be holding in their hands.

I don't go-about pretending to be a professional at this stuff.

I'm not.

Is it a guessing game? Or is it a brilliant Strategy?

Isn't it, though, the same with life.

When we are very little, our parents tell us we can be anything we dream of.

When we are older, they pressure us to have a plan.

Because it's the only way to be successful and live a comfortable life.

To come out on top is

To have a strategy.

How do you play life.

You do good in school. You work hard.

You help others and others help you.

What happens if your plan doesn't work out. 

You fall in love.  You have a family. You can't afford school. You loose the job you planned for so long to get you through.

Then something happens, that throws it all off.

The dealer puts down a two of spades, instead of that queen of hearts you were counting on to lay down a full house.

To walk away with all of the chips you'd been collecting, that you worked hard for, that you bet on this game.
They sit in the middle of a table.
Up for grabs.
The one with the best strategy takes all.

What then.

Life gets messy.  There's a saying: If you want to hear God laugh, tell him your plans.
Because plans are set to comfort us, to guide us.  And every once in a while life deals us a card that we didn't see coming.

You can give up.  

Toss your cards in the air, walk away from the table. 

Or you can DEAL.

Your choice.

Aimee KayLee.

Being "Phililosiphical"

"This I Knew, This I Know, and This I Cannot Know"

Giving advice is something I try hard to not fail at completley.  To know that all of the dumb, unfair, and hurtful things that I've done, or have had done to me, can help someone and possibly save them  from entering the same situation keeps me striving for words that will connect with others and help them to see my own side, in hopes that they will be able to take some piece of it into consideration of their own situation.
When I am handed a problem that is so important to the person who came to me, I'll admit I freak out a little bit.  As I talk, I talk slowly and I think of their reaction before everything I say.
Because the most important thing at this moment is to never lie.
Don't tell them what they want to hear just because it'll solve their problem faster.  That truly solves nothing at all.  It's so hard to see people getting upset, to see them cry because they hurt.  But there are times in life where "warm-fuzzies" will do nobody any justice.
These are those times where your advice can either hurt or help, and the line between is very thin.

So how do you tell someone that it's going to be okay, when they have chosen which side of the fork in the road to go down already, and they've already started walking down that path... but they've stopped and are no longer moving.  They are just standing there because they can't stop themselves from looking backwards at that road that they've just left.  A road they've traveled for so long. They used to know where it went, until suddenly they came upon a decision they hadn't before considered to exist.

You're job, as their friend, as someone who loves them, is to walk past them as they stand there.
You walk down that road further, and see what awaits them if they keep walking.
If you decide they should keep walking, and that road will not do them any harm but will help them,
it is then your job to push them to continue on their way.
If you see harm waiting for them, you take them by the hand and lead them back.

It's not  hard to tell when a person needs change, and that need is obvious.
A lost person has a very distinctive look: they talk with an uncertain tone, they talk in questions, and they have trouble forming the one actual question that they need to ask you ... because they don't really know what it is that they need at first.  They've lost themselves in time and they no longer know how to decide what is best for them.  
You have to be careful, because telling them what they should do will only allow them to not  think for themselves even more than they never have, you need to make them make the decision that is right for them.  They need to start there in order to start finding themselves, to start thinking for themselves, once again.

Tonight I saw the chance at new opportunities for you, and sitting there with you talking I knew that you had the answer of what you should do and what was right for you in your head the whole time.  It just needing a little more back-up opinion before you'd become sure that your decision was what you needed, and what you wanted.
I did my best to not tell you straight-up what I thought you should do,
I laid out possibilities and let you decide for yourself.
I informed you of any possible things I saw waiting for you down this road, and I warned you it is going to be hard.
But I believe that you're strong,
I think that you're smart and talented,
and I know that you are lost.
But I believe your decision is a choice that is going to lead you back to yourself in the end,
and that is was a very, very good decision that you made, though a hard one.
And I'm proud of you.
You know I'll be here when you become uncertain again, to push you to keep going.
And I'm so excited: because I, as well as so many others, love you for exactly who you are right now, lost and everything, and we can't wait to see who you become when you really find you again.

Love you Kikki: Who you are now, and who you are going to find yourself to be.

Growing-Up

Sometimes growing-up means doing things you don't really want to.
It means not liking every decision your going to have to make.
It means possibly loosing people you can't live without.
But it means becoming who you've always wanted to be.
It means making decisions that will lead you to where you really belong.
It means meeting new friends, and keeping the old ones,
They are the best ones, as well.
It's scary.
It's hard.
It can be mean.

But it's exciting.
Adventurous,
And hard work will pay-off.
It's a part of life none of us can really avoid.
You have to accept what's past and learn to love what's present.
Those who stay and accept changes will mean everything,
Those who leave, you can leave as well.
They are trying to grow-up too.
People are the only ones who make decisions hard.
If you'd only yourself to consider, what you choose wouldn't matter as much.
But when you care about friendship
When you care about anyone else
You're not allowed to care only for yourself and what you want.
Yet still,  you cannot forget to look out for you,
Because you is the only you that you get.
Things that are hard will get easier with time.
The clocks keep ticking.
And for every generation,
Growing-up will continue to happen all-too soon.

Avoiding Your Problems

There's always something that we don't want to do.  And we are determined to put it off until the last possible minute...be it an essay for class or changing the baby's diaper, we wait until it absolutely cannot be put-off any longer to buck-up and get it done.
Why?
When you push things to the back of your mind, they slowly eat at you until they get taken care of.  You have math homework, and you're invited to go out with some friends.  So you go out.  But while out all you are going to be able to think about is the sixteen linear equations sitting on your desk waiting for you when you get back to the house... and your not even able to enjoy having a good time.
I've tried, this being my first year of college, to become a little better at doing things ahead of time.  My Professor Reimringer told us the story of his old college professor's "back burner" theory on my second day of his comp. class, and I feel a version of it applies nicely here.

Picture a Stove, with a pot sitting on the back right burner.
That pot is your problem.
Now turn the stove on.  Those hot, blue flames licking the bottom of the pot is the heat that gets worse and worse as your problem sits there, burning in the back of your mind.
It will just get hotter and hotter, more dangerous the longer it is ignored.
Now add water.
This is you finally aknowledging the issue, taking it into consideration.
The water sits and bubbles, boiling in the back of your brain.
Now add noodles, or some other simple ingredient.
This is you coming -up with the easiest possible way out of your problem.
You soon realize however it won't be that easy to solve.
So you throw some meat in there, some herbs and spices.
This is you taking the time to find a solution that will work, giving a problem all the ingredients needed to be solved properly in time.  Once you're finished, you can enjoy the freedom that comes with the piece-of-mind, knowing you did things correctly and as they should be done, creating the perfect recipe-solution.

Your going to be hit with a lot of problems in time, and putting them off only makes things worse.  So don't avoid them, be careful and take your time in doing things right, and you'll be much more satisfied with your ending result.
I tried applying this theory towards homework and it's been working wonders... who knew that the solution to getting things done was as simple as... well, doing them?
Smart teachers.

Don't Give-Up

I putzed around a little this morning before heading to my math class and arrived two minutes before eight. My professor was already handing around the clipboard for attendance so my eyes scanned to room fast for a spot.  They passed over a guy in a red MN sweatshirt, then snapped back to the open computer next to him.  I took my seat and went to turn on my screen... but the damn thing wouldn't start. I was getting frustrated, and he watched me struggle for a couple of minutes before laughing.  He reached over me and proceeded to push the one button on the whole machine that for some reason I hadn't been able to find... it was the power button.
How Convenient.
I thanked him and laughed at myself to ease the embarrassment a little.  He told me no problem, he worked on computers all the time.  I don't really know anyone in that class so I grabbed at the opportunity for conversation.
If there is one thing I've found in all my years on this earth, it's that people really like to talk about themselves.  It is a subject that they never get bored of,  and the more questions I asked him the more I learned about his story.
He had dropped out of both high school and college, after struggling socially and falling behind academically in his classes.  He tried woking a full-time job for a couple of years, before he found he was really un-happy with his career and came clean with himself about needing to get an education.  So he went back and had to pretty-much start from scratch.
We didn't get much done in our class, and we found ourselves getting further and further off-topic as we talked.  One line, that he said at the very beginning of our conversation, stuck with me a while.  Even after class had already finished and I'd closed out of the program, screen still on problem number one.  He had shaken his head hard and waved his hands in a giant "x" gesture as he'd told me,
"I thought school was bad, but my job was worse so I came back. Don't ever drop out of college, just don't.  Because without it things really just fricken suck."
You know, sometimes the most unexpected people remind you of the most important things in the most unexpected ways.
I think Kevin was reminding me of how important it is to never, ever give-up.  Because things, I find, really always do get better.  And we are all capable of doing anything we put our minds too, as long as we work hard and go-out and get it. Things don't always go as planned, we are all too well aware of this fact. Every now and then, your gonna have to start over from scratch.
And that is perfectly okay.

Flashbacks

I was on my way to work today and I was running late, as I pretty much always am.  I whipped my car out of the driveway, took off down the street, and rounded the corner to come face-to-feace with a small girl (no I didn't hit her.)  She had just gotten off of the school bus, a couple blocks down now, and was probably walking home.  I took a second glance at her.  She was all decked-out; light-up shoes, a Mudd back-pack, and a Finding Nemo lunch box, carrying what looked to me like a Disney Princess notebook.  My heart fell a little.
I really like college, only three hours a day in school, waking-up early but getting out at like ten and having the rest of your day to get things  done.  It's pretty nice.
But now here I was, headed to work, while she went home to watch cartoons and fight over the best pieces of furniture for her barbie house with her sisters.  I remember being that little.
I didn't feel old, but almost immediately I became aware of time. Ten, maybe eleven years ago I was that little girl.  Trading gell-pens on the playground and eating glue just because someone dared me too.  Back when my homework assignments were crafts and coloring, not two hour geology lectures and college algebra.
I'll admit... I'm not fully grown-up.  As I sit here I can tell you that there are crayons spewed all over my desk, and my keyboard is sitting on top of a brightly-colored Tinker Bell folder.  However, I am old enough to be aware of how young I can no longer be and act (in public at least.)
I wanted to pull over and tell her to have fun, to enjoy freedom from responsibilities and worries.  To put-off growing up as long as she can.  That these are her days to dream, imagine, and believe that anything is possible.
I thought about this all the way to work... I left for work at two thirty, and arrived at two forty.  It's supposed to take me thirty minutes to get to work.
I wonder if that little girl will ever  grow-up to be be as bad of a driver as I am.

On Broken Hearts

When I was little, I learned to draw a heart. My hearts' shapes' were always pretty funny-looking, and I'd spend hours of frustration trying to get them perfect.

You start your pencil at the top of the paper, you make a few curves and a point, until they meet back together at the start.  

It doesn't take long for you to learn that a small squiggly line down the center is how to draw a "broken" one.

In Saturday morning cartoons, you see Deedee's heart pop right out of the screen at you and shatter into a million pieces.  She simply picks-up the pieces, glues it back together, and sticks it back into her chest. Good as new. 

If only it were that easy.

I know someone, whom very recently put herself out there for the first time, and took a chance with her best friend, to be more.  They saw each other for a short while, things weren't working, and it ended.  Happens all the time, right?

Sadly, yes.  But with what consequences?  In high school today, relationships aren't usually had because they want to be together forever, they generally last a matter of months.  both then wait a handful of weeks before moving on to the next eligable bachelors. 

For many this is routine.

But what about for those who really want to have something special, who are serious about finding the chemistry and making it work.  The ones that don't say "I love you" without a pause of consideration first. What happens to them?  

I remember crying, for so long after my heart broke the first time.  As many have or will find-out, it's not "broken" because it bursts into a million pieces at your feet.  It's not just anther adjective.  Somebody knew what they were doing when they created the term.

That's exactly how it feels, physically and mentally you feel like you'll never be whole again.  You cry not only out of sadness but out of pain, and your arms wrap around your stomach to hold yourself together, not to keep your heart from falling out of your chest onto the floor.

The only real cure for this kind of pain? 

                         Time.

My mom always told me you will never forget the first person you ever loved, that somehow, they will always be there.  I believe this is true, however I don't see it needing t be a bad thing.  Going through such pain makes you stronger, possibly more careful, and more experienced for the next time that something good comes around the corner.  And it will come.  There's always someone out there, willing to take the time to help you put the pieces back together... sometimes, much faster than you'd think.  You've just got to give it time.

Love You S.L.

Every Face in a Different Place

In our lives, no matter how short, or how long, we will meet hundreds upon hundreds of people.  Now, I use the term "meet" very loosely.  You meet every customer that walks up to your register and orders a milkshake.  Every operator in india that takes his or her sweet time to actually help you with your technical problem on the telephone (after putting you on hold 50 gazzillion times to deal with lame elevator music), and every salesman that comes knocking on your front door.  But you can't know from a handshake, who they really are.  Handing them back their credit cards and wishing them a nice rest of their day really doesn't constitute as sitting down to coffee and dipping into their personal lives.  So do we choose those that we become close to?  Are we really the selective ones, or do they choose to know us?  Maybe there isn't any actual selective-choice-making happening at all.
If you walked up to an elderly couple in the mall and asked them how they met, I'm sure you'd get quite the story.  The point is, that it seems they've been together since dinos walked the planet, and for some odd reason saw something in one another that kept them together until Edison created the light bulb.
So the question is: How did two people who are so perfect for each other, manage to find each other among everyone they've met on a daily basis, in the first place?  What made that person different from every other face in the crowd?  How did they just manage to cross paths and decide to get to know one another?
Okay that was more than one question, pardon the typo.  But you see my point.
Some will argue pure coincidence, while others will defend fate.
I like to think a little of both have something to do with it, along with some genuine "purpose" thrown in.
Sure, there are people that I've met that I don't really care to know.  But then there are some that, without them, I don't know how my story would have made it this far.
Global is another concept.  What about those people all around the world?  We often forget that there are other countries, and that people exist on them.  Most of the time we forget that anything even exists outside our hometowns.  Will we ever meet them?  Will we ever get a chance to learn their stories, or be given the chance to let them change our own?
While we may never encounter everyone in our lifetime, all of the people we "meet" put together add up to every different kind of person one could possibly need to know, to get them through their worst times and put them through their best... Now how does that work out?
Coincidence, fate, or sheer dumb luck... I think it's a pretty incredible concept... One you can mull over while you sit at the table in the coffee shop by yourself because your friend choose not to show up on schedule for personal-life-dipping time :D Happy mulling.

Tough Love, A Short Story

(Note: There are three characters in this story)

They yell at her in German, her native language, for pulling the other girl's hair in school.
She's been sitting in this room for god-knows how many hours now.  They tell her to behave herself in school, or she will be kicked out, something her family can't afford.
They are immigrants, learning english fluently is essential, as well as getting a good education so she wont have to struggle like them.
Money is tight, she works the family gas station after school days, getting her homework done from behind the shield of the cash register.
The homework she is assigned is so much harder for her than it is for the other kids... some of the words she can't read, and she has to ask the teacher.
Her parents are not fluent in anything but German, and they can't get better jobs than the gas station because they lack an american education.
She knows they only want better for her, that's why they are so hard on her. She knows school is important, but she wants to be a kid.
They all play hopscotch and four-square after school, she has to wok and do school work...
it isn't fair.
Her parents tell her she doesn't have time to be a kid, she is already behind in school, "disadavanatged" they tell her.
Once they leave the room, she opens her bag and takes out a notebook.  She sharpens her pencil and sits on her bed.
Sitting up against her pillows, she turns to a blank page, and begins to write "I WIL NOT MISBEHAVE IN SCHOOL."
Just one of many lines.

*************************************************

She clears the dishes from the dinner table, her annoying brother thinks it's funny to move all the forks to the opposite side.  She picks one up and pretends to throw it at him.
Mom catches her and tells them both to cut it out. She asks if her homework is done, when she says she's yet to start it, she gets a scornful look and a swish to her bottom.
With that she races upstairs and turns on her desk light, but it wont turn on.
She goes out into the hall and finds her father cussing at the light in the bathroom. The electricity bill must not have gotten paid again. That happens sometimes.
She grabs a flashlight from the pantry and walks back upstairs, on the way she stops by the laundry room and picks up her hamper of hand-me-down clothes, the ones the kids at school make fun of her for wearing.
She puts her clothes away and takes out her book, she has a test tomorrow.
After an hour of taking notes and reading the chapter thoroughly, she looks out her window, it's late.  She takes a cold shower and dries herself off with an already wet towel.  The dryer must not be working well, that happens sometimes.
As she is just about to slip into sleep, she hears something hit her window... it's the boy across the pond throwing rocks.  He gestures from below, for her to come outside and talk with him, but she shakes her head and closes the window.
She can't go outside now, it's late and she needs sleep.
She has a test tomorrow.

***************************************************

She sits next to him in class.  His clothes are torn and ragged, like the ones the mechanic next door to her parents' gas station wears, dirty and stained.
He was poor, like her family, but poorer.  She asks him why his clothes are always so shabby, he says he has eight siblings.  He asks her why she talks funny, she say's it's because she doesn't know english very well yet.
He isn't eating at lunch again, so she goes over and sits next to him on the bench, her paper-sack bouncing by her side.  She asks why he doesn't eat, he says he's not hungry.  As if to argue with it's owner this stomach lets out a low growl.  She smiles and take out a sandwich.  She takes both sides and in a sad attempt manages to split it unevenly down the middle. She hands him the bigger half.  He looks embarassed, but eats quickly, as if he's afraid she will change her mind and take it back.
She likes sharing with him.  She pushes her lunch sack over to the side so that she can fit her books on the table, they are heavy in her lap.  He asks why she always carries so many books.  She says she has a lot of schoolwork, and it takes a long time because it's hard for her.
He asks her why she bothers then, to do it?
She smiles, and simply tells him she likes to learn.

Mike Holst

My Grandpa, Mike Holst, is an American writer from Crosslake MN. He has published twelve novels and  is a columnist for his town newspaper. His books are of the fiction genre, check them out at amazon.com, barnsandnoble.com, and iniverse.com.  Or Click on his picture to visit his online site and learn more about his story, and the stories he writes.

The "Gut Feeling"

You're about to walk out the door on your way to work.  You grab your coat off of the hanger, and your shoes off the shelf.  Half-way out of the main entrance to your house you glance upwards... the clouds are looking a little menacing... but there is sun.  From somewhere inside of you, the thought to grab that travel-sized umbrella rikoshays through your subconscious.  Running a little late, you shake it off and continue on your way.

Speeding down the freeway towards your exit some time later, quarter-sized droplets start to hammer the roof of your car.  You turn your wipers on full-speed as little streams race down either side of your windshield.  It's not, however, until you whip into a spot in the back of the lot that you go to get out of your car and realize... it's raining.  That glimmer of sunshine that you'd caught a glimpse of this morning is MIA.  Dark clouds cover the sky above you and you get a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach.  That little polka-dotted shield that's hanging in the upper-left corner of the door frame in the closet comes to the front of your mind... you should have grabbed that stupid umbrella when you had thought of it earlier.  You now get to enter your presentation for the district manager late, drenched, and out of breath from running to the tarp over the front door to the building.

We all experience them, telling us to grab a pencil from the drawer on our way to school, only to get to class and find out there is a pop-quiz on scantron that takes only answers written in #2 ink.  What are these little so-called "gut feelings" that pop-up from time-to-time?  And why don't we take the time to listen to them?  

I personally can't recall a time that one of these little thoughts ever hurt me, they always seem to be there only to help.  A reminder, so to speak.  

The mind is a very complex tool and if you ever have a spare moment, look-into it.  

It's like looking down at your hands and becoming aware that you move them without even thinking about it.  Or that your feet just do what you tell them too without giving it a second thought.  That one organ controls everything we do, without even making us think to do it.  Like grabbing a pencil or an umbrella, turning left at the fork in the road when your not sure and ending up exactly where you needed to be.  

It's a cool object.  It allows us to have our own thoughts and personality, to be our own person.  It helps us to remember things now and recover older memories from long ago.  It helps us to base our feelings on our decisions, and vise-versa.  Be thankful for the one you've got and use it to the best of your ability.  Listening to your feelings and your heart means doing what you know to be right. The phrase "Gut Feeling" follows shortly after another well known saying,"Use your head."

Welcome

Hi (: I hope you enjoy my writings, and I thank you for your time.