Crémé brûlée

I used to love to bake. Sunday mornings, I would get home from volunteering and try to finish a batch of cupcakes before my mom woke up. I sent cookies by the boxes to my brothers in college and, whenever they would come home I promised them homemade ice cream. I tried my best to not show up anywhere without a plate of treats and, when a friend lost a loved one or won an award, I would resort to my kitchen. I brought cookies and brownies and cupcakes to school because, when I offered one to somebody, they would smile and that was great. Baking was the easiest way to cheer someone up and the quickest way to remind someone that life is good.

But, I rarely bake anymore. I am a senior in high school and the post-it notes on my calendar beg me to choose my homework over my hand-mixer. Track and Stuco and Advocate and friends and school and family always seem so immediate. People are expecting things of me and baking is not one of them. So I don't really do it anymore. Instead, I do a lot of eating. I do a lot of being baked for and consuming whatever my friends worked hard to make. Instead of spending hours in my kitchen, stressing over which flavor of frosting my brother would like better, I spend a few minutes convincing people to share their food with me and even fewer swallowing it once they say yes. I have become a receiver, an eater.

But, I still love baking. On the mornings when I wake up too early to do anything else, I sometimes resort to my kitchen and my hands will easily fall back into habit, kneeling and mixing and mashing as if they never stopped. I did not stop baking because I grew tired of it or outgrew it. I stopped baking because, at one point or another, I decided I didn't have time for it anymore.

And that makes me sick to think about. Who am I to think I can go around eating people's food? Who am I to conclude that whatever I have to do is more important than cheering up a friend? Especially when my friends, the people I now take food from, are doing such amazing things. My friends' band just released an EP. Tons of them are being accepted onto colleges or offered scholarships. One of my best friends is in the cutest relationship I have ever seen and I am just sitting here, eating their food instead of baking for them. It's disgusting and I'm sorry.



Also, check this out: http://vinylsurprise.bandcamp.com/

Trampled by Teamwork

I think we can all learn something from folk music.

I just got home from seeing the band Trampled by Turtles pour themselves into live music at the Vic. I laughed a little bit when the five band members took the stage. The banjo player, violinist, and mandolinist all looked like they had just left their day jobs at Bass Pro Shop. They each had enough facial hair to keep them warm in the winter and I wouldn't be surprised if the shoes they were wearing were their only pairs. The bass player could have easily been the violinist's son, although he lacked the same abundance of facial hair. So, when I saw the lead vocalist and guitarist walk out with a nicely trimmed layer of scruff and a collared shirt, I assumed he would steal the show. I expected a single spotlight or a slew of guitar solos or vocal riffs. I expected the other 4 to absent-mindedly keep rhythmic support, to play chords just to move on to the next one. I expected each member to play his own instrument with mastery, 5 well-accomplished but independent musicians.

But, the show wasn't about the banjo player. Or the violinist. Or the mandolinist. Or the bass player. Not even the lead guitarist. This show wasn't about 4 or 5 or 6 stringed instruments. This show wasn't even about 5 voices.

This show was about 27 strings working together. Sure, each of these musicians was exceedingly talented, but none more so than the sum of their parts. This show was about 27 strings knowing and trusting one another, feeling where the group was moving and helping to move it along. This show was about sets of 4 or 5 or 6 strings pouring themselves into what they know and hoping that the result will benefit the rest of the 27. This show was about strumming each string loudly and with variety, but never so much so that it might overshadow another. This show was about 23 strings having the other 4's back when they felt compelled to take the lead, to solo. This show was about 27 independent strings, all being strummed into one beautiful sound. 27 strings trading in their own spotlight for a backlight that spreads evenly across the stage.

Folk music is selfless. And although I may still be stuck in the greed of rock or pop, I can rest easy knowing that selflessness exists.

Mean what you say (honesty)

All the things I said today
Or rather, said at all
So many of them will be forgotten
Unheard and left to fall

And still, I know, some words I've said
Have been taken down in note
Not to be remembered, but to serve
As an example of what I promote

So all the things I said tonight
Or said at any time
Have become a mask of what you see
When thinking of who I am

Conscious of this, I cannot stop
Thinking of all the lies
The things I made up or ignored
Trying to fit in my disguise

A disguise of who I want to be
But really who I'm not.
Saying things I think will make me
An object of your thought

And soon enough the mask you wear
Forms nearly to your skin.
And suddenly the lies you spoke
Become the lies you're living in

When really, it all goes back to when
You spoke those words out loud
The time you thought you weren't enough
And needed lies to make you proud

But likely, it'a true that when you spoke
Bred in jealousy and spew,
That had you time to think it through
would've said words that you meant to

But still, you hold to what you said
Afraid to look like a fool.
So what you said, however wrong
Becomes your guiding rule

The things you didn't mean to say
Are now the things you preach.
So easy to say but not always true
Your flaws originate in speech

But still, out loud
My voice it rings.
Does that mean
I mean these things?

Dive in

Today I went 'a swimming
Through an written, waving ocean
The titles I was skimming
Unfamiliar with commotion

So up and down the rows I took
Alphabetical laps
And soon I found a familiar book
Where my favorite poem entraps

And so, my hands clenched on to
The cover, red and fading
The floatation of a name I knew
In my swimming, it was aiding

And there in those words, I coasted
A lazy survival swim
My mind could find current's end
And again I would begin

But waves or something else choked me
And water filled my throat
My hands, they shook and suddenly
I dropped my comfortable boat

The pages spilled and opened to
A poem I'd never read
The unfamiliar water
In which I knew not how to tred

Splashing around in a deeper grove
Of my own ignorance
I tried to keep my head above
The waves so rigorous

But soon my mind was swallowed by
The new words' undertow
Pulled under, I was drowning, my
Body sunk in new-to-know

And when I stood, ready to go
For it was half past five
I realized all the things I'd know
If I would only think to dive

A good choice I made today

Today, I climbed a tree because my wonderful friend Paxton told me to in a blog post I will link at the end. I didn't make a lot of great choices today, but seeing a rainbow from my branch and hearing proof that a little boy saw it too was a nice reminder that I did make at least one.

Check out Paxton's post about her much more exciting and contemplative experience in a tree: http://shouldbesatisfied.blogspot.com/2013/01/thank-you.html?m=1

Still blue

Right now, I am laying on a park bench looking up at the clouds. I have always been intrigued by clouds, but not as much as by the color of the sky. The sky is blue because, as light waves from the sun pass through the atmosphere, they are scattered at various locations. Only the blue wavelengths are scattered at the appropriate time so, although the sun is letting off red and green and yellow light too, we only see blue. As the earth rotates, the angle between the sun and our location on earth varies, causing wavelengths to have to pass through thicker and thinner amounts of atmosphere. The sky is different shades of blue at different times because of this variation and the lengths of lightwaves scattered. So, until the sun sets, the sky is always blue.

But, for the first half hour that I was sitting here, the sky was cloudy and gray. Dark stratus clouds spanned the troposphere, nibus and full of rain. The air had not yet reached its due point, so it hasn't rained yet. I was stuck looking up at a lifeless, bleak, and unvarying color. The earth rotating and the sun is shining, but all I could see was gray. The sky was gray and I was forced to sit here, wishing it was blue again.

But, as pressure systems changed, the clouds blew past, exposing, once again, the blueness above. Right now, it is gentle and light and brighter than I remember. Looking up at the passing clouds, I feel foolish for ever cursing at gray. The sky is not cloudy. The sky is blue. The sky is always blue. Sometimes, there are clouds that make us think the sky is gray but, behind them, somewhere, the sky is still blue.


Incase it wasn't blatantly obvious, this post has almost nothing to do with the sky.

Dancing in the rain

It's a fact, I think, I've always known
But one I do forget
That life is rich when you think it so
And poor when opposite

Rain can be dark or can be blue
The substance does not change
So sulk or smile, it's up to you
Which outlook you prearrange

I'm done with wishing I had more
For when I think the things I should
When a hole in the wall becomes a door
Then life is really really good

Hungry

I don't know why, but today I could not stop eating. I came home from the park at 10 pm and, within the first twenty minutes, knocked out three pieces of pizza, a box of wheat thins, and two clementines. I should probably be more ashamed of how the night progressed, embarrassed of what is actually left in my pantry. But I am not. I am so lucky to have a full pantry and there are worse things I could be doing than eating too much food. What does concern me, however, was the lack of reason behind my senseless eating

Really, my day has been okay -- no reason to celebrate but also no unusual or unexpected stress. It's not like I was trying to distract myself from any approaching test or make up for a missed meal this morning. Besides, food isn't something I usually would turn to, even if something was wrong. My day was fine, normal. I guess I was just hungry and that confused me.

Not sure what was happening, I sent a message (in all caps) to three of my friends. As always, they were wonderful and suggested I switch to healthier alternatives. And, the more and more they encouraged me, the more and more I realized that I wasn't even hungry. In fact, I was quite full. But still, I sliced another apple and unscrewed the jar of peanut butter because something in my body was telling me that I had to.

One of my best friends reminded me that, "we all have those days." And I agree, But, now it is midnight and this isn't just one day anymore. This isn't just "one of those days" because now it is tomorrow and who knows when I will find it in me to stop. My senseless eating didn't go away with the arrival of tomorrow. Nothing is going to stop until I figure out how to put the god-damned fork down.

So maybe I am not hungry; maybe I am just empty. Maybe pasta and cookies and Gatorade and Cheerios are never going to fill me up. Maybe I keep shoving food in my mouth, hoping eventually I will feel as full as I have in the past. Maybe sitting alone at the park made me feel small and feeling small made me feel empty and I tried to fill that with food. Maybe I really am missing something substantial right now. Maybe I am trying to strengthen my bones with milk because most of me is feeling pretty weak. Maybe I am surrounding my organs with protein, hoping to crush them into a less hallow state. Maybe I am afraid to stop eating because I fear what I might do next.

Or maybe I am just hungry. Fuck, I don't know.


It will be interesting, between this bing and this post, to see which of these I regret more in the morning.

A very short explanation as to why I might be getting even weirder

I love people who make you feel like goofy is normal. I really hope people feel that sense of comfort around me.


Six years ago, I was an absolute spazz. Ask anyone; I was odd. So I calmed down (a little), took the bows out of my hair, and bought a black northface. And although I have grown up a ton and dislike most of the things I did back then, I miss being goofy.

This is me saying goodbye to biting back giggles. I am only young once and if I want to burst into laughter or dance around to music I hate or eat way too much food or iceskate with one boot still on, than I hope the people around me are as cool with it as my friends were tonight.

Hello, goofy. I have missed you.

On turning 18

So, right now it is 12:14 which means my 18th birthday has just come to an end. The day started out pretty low: failed attempts at lotto ticket purchases, cloudy skies blocking the meteor shower, a throbbing back ache, tons of laundry to do, and no plans to see my close friends. By 4 pm, I decided I would blog about how turning 18 wasn't about this one day, it was about all the great memories that had led up to it. Even if my birthday was turning out subpar, I know how lucky I have been in life and didn't want to complain.

But I was wrong. I was so wrong. Turning 18 isn't about my birthday - buying lotto tickets, or blowing out the candles. But, it is not about my life thus far either - the memories. No. Turning 18, or any age, is about the people who have gotten me there. My 18th birthday turned into a surprise party in which I got to hug almost everyone who means anything to me. And, while I know each hug was meant to congratulate me, in all honesty each hug was about me thanking them. I am surrounded by the most genuine, goofy, kind, giving, and supportive people and I would not trade them for any lotto ticket or meteor shower. They are the people who deserve all the love that was given to me tonight. I have no words good enough for how good these people are. None.

Because, I wouldn't be 18 without these people. My friends have lived such full lives and having any of their experiences or attitudes rub off on me for the past 18 years has made me who I am.

Without the wonderful people in my life, I would be nobody, much less a legal adult. Without the things that they have done, I would have done nothing. Without the things that they have said, I would know nothing.

So, thank you. Thank you to everyone who means anything to me. Thank you for the people who sacrificed 30 minutes out of your fast-paced (and much cooler) lives to stop by and give me a hug. Thank you for the friends that danced with me, even though I know it made you feel uncomfortable. Thank you to the angels who sat with me as the night came to the end, for listening to my toast even when I could not find words worthy of what you have all done for me.

Thank you for making me 18.