Help me find my sister, please share.

Her name is more than likely not Christina. When a child is adopted at birth, the adoptive parents typically change the name that the biological parents gave the child. Please keep that in mind as this is passed around. Thank you for taking the time to read this. This world is a beautiful place, filled with amazing people. You never know who you know, who may know someone else, whose reads this in their feed while having their morning coffee.

Spring, stay awhile.

The other day my son Jacob was carrying in grocery bags with me. With two foot of snow still on the ground, we juggled the bags and skated on the pact down paths. “Smell that Mom?” He questioned. “What?” I said. “Fishing!” He smiled at me. “Yes Jacob I do. Though to me it smells more like gardening.” Knocking on the sliding glass door with the tip of my boot, I could feel the bags slipping from my grip. “Hurry!” I belted out loud enough for one of the other two kids to come to our rescue. Jeffrey my oldest slid the glass open and unloaded my hands that were now beautiful shades of purple and red. I always attempted to bring in an incredible amount of bags at a time limiting the amount of trips I had to take. Though it was literally insane to do.

As the 45 degree air smacked Jeffrey in the face he grinned. “Mom did you get my baseball pants yet?” “Not yet Jeff, I haven't even thought about it. When does it start?” I tried not to sound as frustrated as I was for forgetting them. “Soon, can’t you smell it?” “What?! Jake just said it smelt like fishing! That's too funny.” I Squeeze through the door and slid off my boots. “What's funny mom?” My daughter came dancing over grabbing up the bags of food and sorting them through. “Your boys just said spring smells like fishing and baseball. I think it smells like gardening. What does it smell like to you?” I asked her. “Easter!” She blurted out without a second thought. “I don't know how we are going to have an Easter egg hunt though, if some of the snow doesn't melt.” She added with a concerned look appearing on her face. “Good question! I wouldn't worry, we'll figure it out.” We finished the rest of the trips to the truck and the children ran off to do what they do.

Later that evening my husband came home. Wet, muddy and cold. Putting on some hot tea for him, I flooded him with my usual commentary as he peeled off his Lacrosse boots and Carhartts. “It was beautiful today! I went shopping and oh yeah, don't let me forget to get Jeff’s baseball pants. Can you believe it's almost time for baseball? Kayla reminded me, we have to call my mom and finalize our plans for Easter. Jake –“ He suddenly cut me off. “Babe! Stop, you gotta wait. I'm cold, wet and muddy. The days are getting longer and everything is mud. Everywhere I went today was a trial not to get stuck. Even with the track machine. I'm going to take a hot shower.” He turned and headed towards the bathroom. “I really can't wait for this time of year to pass. It smells terrible. The only thing good about spring is turkey season.” He mumbled to himself as he made his way down the hall.

As miserable as he was I couldn't help but grin. The many smells of change. I’d never really thought about it like that. Each of us relate to the melting snow so differently. I buy seeds and soil to start my plants for the garden, so that we have a bountiful year. Jacob can't wait to toss a ball into the crisp pond and study his bobber. Jeffrey has the excitement of grand slams and competition coursing through his veins. My daughter anticipates family and eggs colored all different colors of the rainbow, littered across the yard. With all this happiness, my hard working husband can't wait for lightning bugs and summer heat, and I don't blame him, after all he works outside.  

I know that it seems like it’s been one of the longest, harshest winters, but as far as I am concerned, it can take its time. It comes and goes so fast sometimes I swear that I’m beginning to loose time. It’s like, one day I hear the peepers chirping hello to spring and the next day the locusts are screaming their summer goodbyes. “So welcome back Spring, plant your flowers, get some hot tea, sit with me, lets watch your colors bloom, and please, stay a while.”

Beautiful illusions.

Transformation is constant. It is a current pushing forward regardless of friction. Nothing is still. Nothing is always. Perception is pertinent when dealing with any sort of change. Life grows, seasons change, time moves forward and the earth spins constantly.

Some transformations are obvious. Take for example the butterfly. An egg hatches into a beautiful larva inching along slow and patient. Only to morph into an elegant butterfly. Sometimes I wonder if they are aware of what they would become. If while diligently tranced constructing their chrysalis they had excitement about what was to come. Perhaps they just trust that the unknown doesn’t have to be negative or scary. That change is just that, change.

As we say goodbye to summer and hello to winter, perspective comes into play. Sure cold, slushy commutes to work and frosted over windows can mean a lot of hassle for a lot of people. Let’s think about what is really going on. Nature slows down to rejuvenate, restore and rebuild her life forces for the next year’s cycle. Again, perception plays a part here. I hear many people (guilty of this myself) complaining about “missing the sun”. Many people don’t know that we are actually closest to the sun in January. So when we are furthest away from our source of heat, we are actually warmer. Funny to think about really.

With everyone scurrying to find thing to occupy themselves during these cold months I’m thankful for my childish nature. Snowball fights and igloo forts are some of the highlights of the season for me. Sledding is a favorite too. Snow is a beautiful disaster when too much falls, but excitement still rushes through me when I through open my curtains to see a few feet fell overnight. Cooking everything, and “bad weather” excuses to stay in with family for bored games and movies. The long nights and short days do take a toll on my spirit eventually and as soon as January hits, I am over it. I long for greens and mud. I can’t wait for the smell of bonfires to come from my backyard, not out of my chimney. 

I am sometimes a hypocrite when it comes to transformation, and change. As much as I know that everything is in motion, sometimes I wish I could stop the clock. Whether to have one more moment with a loved one who has passed, or to slow the aging of my children. I sometimes need to remember what my advice to everyone else is. The clichés like, everything happens for a reason, or when one door closes another will open. Regardless if you tend to see the glass of water as half full or half empty it is just that, a glass with water in it. If you stand and ponder for too long, eventually it will evaporate.

I try to appreciate change as much as I can. I am an optimist at heart. It is never easy to face disappointment or loss but looking at things in retrospect can help. As sad as I am to see my children growing up so fast it will be nice to eventually have time to do the endless lists of nonsense I find interesting. Like quilting or refinishing an old dresser to look like a bench with drawers that I found on Pinterest. Watching my children accomplishing their dreams will be as amazing, as watching as they took their first few steps. Sure it’s scary not knowing what is around the corner, but it is the anticipation that’s important. Sometimes we all need to take a step back and just breathe. We are never in control of everything and that, that is ok.

 

 

 

Dance in the rain.

The snow has been pounding down all day and it looks like a calendar shot. The wind creates little tornadoes of glitter across my yard. Silence blankets nature's beautiful noises, until a plow eventually scrapes through the quiet, a path, to ensure that life can go on. White deserts and mirages of summer fill my thoughts, creatively this is perfect.

Writing has kept me busy for most of the chill. When writers block rears its ugly head I fill my inspiration with good books of varying genres. Once inspired I pour words out of my pen onto paper releasing mosaics of alphabetical master pieces. The long nights spent in front of the fireplace with tea and my laptop encourages me to continue writing until my novel is finally finished. Sometimes I get so involved with the climaxes as each plots thickens, that I forget the stresses of the real world. There is no such thing as bored when you are playing in your mind.

Writing down a beautiful experience is a way to not only relive it, but to embalm it onto paper and keep it forever. If you miss the beach and its salty breeze, or the way the Sun ripples across the top of the warm water write about it. If you miss your childhood memories of playing sneaks, a first kiss or sports in the summer heat, write about it. I have so many short stories that I’ve written for my children when they were small. I have some that they helped to me write, even though they more than likely don’t remember. These are gifts I can give them when they're older. Memories that you can't watch, but you can only feel as you read along with a voice from long ago. I can't encourage people enough to find local writing groups. Imagination is a beautiful thing. I feel as though you can never be truly lonely if you can figure out how to tell yourself stories. Or maybe that's just the way I’ve convinced myself that, I'm not crazy, after being an at-home-mom for all these years.

Writing, music, and art, they're all ways to create. To create a feeling, or a thought. Have you ever been driving down the road and had a song come on and it takes you back to high school? Suddenly you find yourself laughing, or crying, that's what it feels like to write about something that you're truly passionate about. Criticism can be hard however. Someone telling you that you're not descriptive enough, or that they can't “see” what they’re being shown in your carefully selected words. Just like with anything though, society creates its own boundaries and wants you to color inside of the lines. Personally, I think the most incredible works of art are the ones scribbled by a small child, or nature’s tiny little bird prints in the newly fallen snow. I like to think of myself as rebellious when I write. All rules go out the window and heart takes over. To me spontaneous episodes of happiness or spare of the moment fun are the times we should cherish the most. I see memes on social media all the time like “live, love, laugh” or “It’s not about waiting for the storm to pass, it’s about learning to dance in the rain.” I think they’re precious, but how often do we really do this?

The world is an amazing place if we can learn to let it live through us. If we can learn to relax and absorb what gifts it can give to our senses. I am a writer. This is how I express myself. However you express yourself, do it. Whether you crank up the radio at a red light and sing loud enough to stop traffic, or whether you sleep under the stars breathing in the earthy air. Just remember to feel. It’s easy enough to find yourself building up that wall, and shutting out the chaos of the mainstream, especially in the winter months, just remember to live. Life is too short too not try to feel everything.

Tiny hands big creek.

How fast the time flies by. Everyday closer to something new, yet further from things past. From Presidential elections being around the corner, to school shopping, the fairs, the rodeo, it seems endless. Summer is supposed to be relaxing. A time to refocus. Instead we find ourselves rushing from work to babysitters, sports, to home. Quick hellos and goodnights only to do it again the next day. I swear it seems that as an at home mom, I just watch the world buzzing around me like working bees preparing their hives.

I have decided, for now I'm looking at yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Settling on that concept, I decided that today I would take my nieces and eldest son to the creek behind my sister in law, Kim’s house. Exploring, teaching and becoming one with nature, is the only way I know to "slow time."

Boots on and mismatched Tupperware in hand, we walked down through the woods. The woods seemed to invite us. Welcoming us with its branches stretched to the sky. We hiked slowly passing beautiful wild flowers from periwinkle to jewel weed. The wild grapes draped over the apple trees as if offering us shelter from the rain if threatened. The bed of pine needles sponged under our feet as we walked giving us the illusion that they would be soft if we were barefoot. Poison ivy climbed up the trees left and right avoiding it was a daunting task.

Along the winding trail to the creek was a clearing littered with black raspberries. Filling our dishes and our bellies, we risked the scratches from the thorns for the delicious snacks. Quinn at four years old, looked up at me with her purple little smile and melted my heart as she explained to me that “They are better than candy Aunt Ivory!” Ashlynn repeated as much of grammas jam recipe as she could remember calling the berry patch a “gold mine.” I was impressed how much of it she could remember considering she is only 7.

As we reached the crest of the ravine my sister in law, Kim clutched her daughter's hands attempting to contain their childhood fearlessness. My 13 year old son, Jeffrey however shot down the embankment, feet first like a professional snowboarder. Once down, he offered his hand to the girls like a gentleman. The crisp water was so refreshing it almost took our minds off of the relentless mosquitos swarming. The stream that was normally only inches deep and about 10 foot wide, was swollen from the recent rain. There was debris along the edges as proof of this week’s storms. The crayfish however didn’t seem to care they were under every slate rock we lifted. They shot backwards swimming with incredible accuracy right into out hands.

Salamanders slithered threw the current with busy little agendas only to end up in clear Tupperware bowls. The girls ages 4 and 7 examined them with the purest eyes. “Why are they so soft? Why so many spots? Are they girls or boys? Do you think they like us?” Kim and I answered the best we could, whipping out our phones to google what little we were unsure of.  

With the sun setting over the tree tops we began to release our critters back into the water thanking them for their participation. Just then when we thought natures surprises were over, we heard a giant “whapping” sound right next to us. Focusing on the direction in which it came, we realized that we had been sharing the stream with a Blue Herron. “A dinosaur bird!” My nieces shouted. It flapped so strong and hard only to take fight delicately and slowly. We chatted about our adventure as we made our way back to their house.

My son and I got into the truck and I had a moment of bittersweet sadness. My kids are not getting any younger. Every bump, scratch and tear they have gotten while exploring the world has made them into who they are. Stronger and smarter than I could have ever expected. They have lived. The beauty of the outdoors has taught them so much about life. Where we live is amazing. Everything you need is right outside I hope as they leave this nest in the next few years that they never forget nature’s lessons.

Kitchen to Kitchen...

      I look for any excuse to crank up my oven when the snow is blowing outside. I love warming the house with the delicious aromas. Cooking is my craft, and I love it. Our family harvests as much naturally as we can in the summer, then hang and dry them to store them for winter use. My daughter Mikayla and I gather raspberry leaves, lemon balm, wild strawberries and peppermint leaves in the summer for sun brewed wild tea, and it is so good!  Inside I grow all of my own herbs out of Mason Jars and try to make everything from scratch. On my kitchen window sill, fresh basil, oregano, lemon balm, thyme, rosemary, chives, and so many more await to amaze us. My recipe box looks like my locker did in high school, stuffed with papers and notes of different shapes and sizes. To someone else it looks like a war zone, to me it looks like a box of treasure maps. I am never afraid to ask for someone’s recipe, to add to my kitchen menu of scrumptious dishes. I love a cooking challenge. I am constantly taking orders from my friends and family for cookies or dips. Whether you’re having friends over to watch the game, or you’re bringing a dish to pass, these are some favorites that will impress just about everyone. Today I am passing these delicious dishes to you, and yours. These recipes are quick, easy and make excellent halftime snacks! ENJOY!

 

Chicken Wing Dip

Recipe given to me by my good friend, Melissa Repine (a New England Patriots fan).

·        2 large jars of refrigerated blue cheese (Maries brand is my personal favorite)

·        2 packages of Philly Cream Cheese (generic brand is fine)

·        2 packages of blue cheese crumbles

·        Franks Red Hot (or generic brand hot sauce)

·        3 or 4 chicken halves

Boil the chicken until cooked thoroughly. Shred/cube the chicken into small pieces. Discard scraps and bone. Combine the ingredients into a large crockpot and stir. It will seem quite thick. Once the mixture is blended, (will be chunky) add the hot sauce to taste (we like around 1/4-1/3 cup). Set the crock pot on low until warm, serve. DON’T leave it on low for long, you don’t want to cook it. Serve with tortilla chips.

 

Peanut Butter Pie

Recipe given to me by my amazing mother in law, Peggy Kearney.

·        1 chocolate or gram cracker pie crust

Beat the following ingredients well-

·        4 oz. Philly Cream Cheese (or generic brand)

·        1 cup confectioners’ sugar

·        1/2 – 2/3 cup peanut butter (creamy or chunky)

·        1/2 cup milk

Fold in an 8 oz. container of Cool Whip. Pour the mixture into the pie shell. Sprinkle the top of the pie with whatever you wish, (I prefer mini chocolate chips or nuts). Cover and freeze. Take it out 5-10 minutes before serving.

 

Chocolate Chip cookies

Ivory Fishgold’s recipe (a Seattle Seahawks fan).

·        2 ¼ cup flour

·        1 tsp. baking soda

·        1tsp. salt

·        3/4 cup granulated sugar

·        3/4 cup packed brown sugar

·        1 cup (2 sticks) butter, melted

·        1 tsp. vanilla extract

·        2 eggs

Mix all wet ingredients then add in the dry ingredients. Then fold in-

·        1 3/4 cups chocolate chips

·        1/2 cup walnuts

Scoop on to your favorite cookie sheet and bake at 375 degrees for 9 minutes or until they are exactly how you like them!

 

Hot Cocoa

Recipe given to me by good friend Mitzi Wilson Kendrick.

·        1/3 cup Cocoa Powder

·        1/3 cup granulated sugar

·        1/2 tsp. vanilla extract

·        “Dash” of salt

Bring 1/2 cup water to boil. Add the ingredients, and stir in 3 1/2 cup milk. Reduce heat (don’t bring back to a boil) stir continuously until everything is dissolved and the desired temperature is reached. Serve with mini marshmallows on top (optional).

 

Fresh Salsa

This amazing recipe was given to me by one of my sister in laws, Camela Fishgold.

Dice up (to your preference) and mix the following in a large bowl-

·        5-6 Roma or Plum tomatoes

·        1/2 Sweet onion

·        3 peeled avocados

·        1/2 bunch Cilantro

·        3 Jalapeno peppers

·        1-2 Anaheim peppers

·        1 Red bell pepper

·        1 Green bell pepper

Add the following to taste-

Pinch salt, pepper, garlic powder. You can keep it chunky or put it into a blender. Serve with tortilla chips, (the “hint of lime” kind is my favorite!).

 

 

In love With Autumn.

The time of year is here, when pumpkin and apple flavors are stuffed into everything. Gloves, scarves and britches get washed and ready for their debut. Making coffee early in the morning becomes a struggle as your feet, fearing the chill of the floors, beg you to stay in the comfort of your bed.  Slippers swish across the ground whispering thoughts of autumn. Cookies, roasts, stuffed peppers and pies heat the house with delicious smells of fall. The morning dew procrastinates its evaporating off the blades of grass till late morning, slowing its growth and need for mowing. The sun, is so inviting, though armed with bitter shards of cold. It plays tricks on our eyes for as we walk out the door we turn right back in for a sweater refusing to put a coat on “this early” in the season. Mittens created with love by grandmothers everywhere snuggle up around your hands and the leaves paint the hills with change. Yellows, oranges and reds, what a fiery collage. As we layer clothes on, the trees undress. Twisting and dancing they put on quite a show. The world becomes overwhelmed with deadlines of snow. Shopping begins, snow tires are purchased, trail cams are put up and all of the children rush with excitement back to school. With a bite in the air football fans arm themselves with foam fingers and chili. Decorating themselves with their favorite team’s accessories. They gather in the masses. With food, drink, family and friends they tailgate, sharing their predictions of the games. Hunters smile a little bigger as they mark the days of their calendars. They help to maintain a natural, healthy balance in the forest and proudly feed their families all winter. They pull their camouflage out of storage and litter the woods with blinds and tree stands. Flocking to sporting goods stores, they share stories of bravery and unbelievable experiences. Turkey calls and grunts fly off the shelves faster than they can be replenished. Farmers scurry about with their choppers stuffing their silos with delicious feed for their critters. Arming themselves with Carhartts, long Johns and Muck Boots, they challenge the weather. It’s a race ageist time with Old Man Winter. With the days getting shorter and the list getting longer, they push through the most trying of feats. Fighting allergies and hay fever, even the toughest of hearts will shed tears.  Admiring the beauty of the autumn, smiles break though as geese forge the freshly cut corn fields preparing for their journey south. Scarecrows that were placed to guard the harvest, often have crows mockingly perched on their arms.  Fall festivals and homecomings are filling weekends across Western New York. Haunted houses, hay rides and corn mazes are mobbed with people that are anticipating Halloween. Farmers present their harvest with the community with smiles and pride. Gourds, Indian corn, apples, squashes, cider and pumpkins piled high on tables. Homemade signs display reasonable prices and seasons greetings. It all makes you appreciate the few nice days we get at the end of September just a little more. As much as my children dread this, I must mention the endless stacking of wood. Cords upon cords we build a wall of readiness. I love the smell of wood burning stoves. The crackle of the fire burning deep inside, tells me stories of my childhood. It reminds me of holiday gatherings at my grandparents’ house with family and friends. It always helped to pass the long boring days of snow and ice. With change as far as the eyes can see, we brace ourselves for the freeze. Everyone blabbing their opinions of how harsh or mild the winter will be. Regardless if it becomes the coldest winter to record or the deepest snow to date, now it is, just as it should be. With all the hustle and bustle across the land it’s easy to lose focus on how beautiful fall really is.  So gather your recipes and trade them about. We live in one of the most amazing places on Earth and are blessed with the ability to watch it change in awe. So don’t forget to stop, and enjoy the view.

Our Thanksgiving.

As hostess for thanks giving I find myself in organized chaos. While scrambling around to get everything perfect, I seem to be confusing myself with a General in the Army. Ordering the kids to not make a mess, please get a table cloth and put an extra leaf in the table. Explaining to my husband over and over again why he can’t fallow me around the kitchen taste testing everything. Finally pleading to him, “The parade is on, here’s coffee for you and cider for the kids. Get out of the kitchen and go watch it, please.” He giggles as he motions for the kids to fallow him.
Greetings shoot through the house as our family arrives. Each of them dressed in their Sunday best handing me over bottles of wine and their traditional dishes. Cranberry sauce, squashes, broccoli, turnips, beets, carrots, mashed potatoes, candied yams, homemade breads of all kinds from zucchini to cornbread, jello jewels, pies fresh from grandmothers oven and so much more.
The turkey, stuffed with Moms famous stuffing, prepares to make its debut. Plates and platters that have been in the family for generations have left comfort of the china cabinet. Arranged in the classiest of manor, it in its self, is a feast for the eyes.  A cornucopia centers the display of family recipes that are locked in the minds of all the mothers in our family.
As we sit down everyone gapes in awe at the blessings on my table. We each take turns reciting something we are thankful for before father leads us in grace. A grace so powerful it commands even the youngest to silence. The wine is poured and the toast is made. So much to see, smell, and taste. The echoes of laughter tear though the house as dishes clank and memories glitter the dining room. Like a vine we are all connected at the table. Mothers, sisters, brothers, fathers, grandmothers, aunts, uncles and cousins all sharing their heritage.
Quinn, my three year old niece sits beside me and leans in to express her dislike for the “funny tasting pudding”. After I explained that it was not pudding at all, that it was squash, she then explained to me that “no one should ever eat anything that has been squashed.” As I sat there thinking she couldn’t get any cuter she whispered, “There is no candy in my yams? I need a different piece.”
My husband and brother are always so entertaining. They proudly bicker through all of their hunting adventures. Both of them on many occasions swearing the monster buck is still up there, but irrationally blaming anything that they can, for why it’s not mounted in their living rooms.
Our children rambunctiously beg to be freed from the table to run through the house. As permission is granted a calm comes over the feast. Emotions heighten as we reminisce. Part of being thankful is to except the things that we cannot change. We share stories of each of our family members who are smiling down from heaven. I am so proud to have a family so rich with love.
In a race for pie my kitchen transforms in to a beehive. Mother clears the table with the children and packages up leftovers into Tupperware for everyone the take home. My sister in law washes dishes as I dry then put them away. A system that has never failed us.
Everyone doing their part. Everyone that is, except for the guys. Football cheers and shouting thunder from the living room. Each of them rooting for a different team. Regardless the outcome of the game, Gramma’s pies cure all bruised egos. At least that’s how it seems to be.
Resetting the table, dressing it with pies and coffee brings us all together for the final chapter. A conclusion, much like in this column. Apple, peach, pumpkin, pecan and rhubarb pie top off this beautiful day of thanks. We have been so blessed in this life. Though we’ve had our fair share of trials, we have no regrets and for that I am the most thankful.

Why I do it...

           It’s like an impulse. An uncontrollable addiction. Words woven together like vines covering a hidden sacred place. Trapped inside the chaos of myself all I can do is invite others in. I do it to burn emotion through the souls of those who feel nothing. I do it to bring life back to things forgotten. I do it to tell a story of something unimaginable. I give taste to colors deliciously brilliant. Allowing you to feel sound described so vividly it’s as if a breeze goes straight through you. I give tears to the hollowness that somehow suffocates our ability to sob. To strike fear that rips and tares through to the surface reviling itself as goose bumps on your delicate skin.

 I do it to give someone purpose. I do it to give comfort and hope when tomorrow feels years away. I am a companion when lonely is all you know. Inspiring words or a figurative hug. Compelling a smile to your face when melancholy is infesting your spirit. I do it to illuminate light when darkness cloaks over you. I will push laughter through your drowning tears. I do it to create poetic ripples of emotion dramatically varying with each cover chosen.

When my binding is opened and the words are set free. My mind will inevitably wrap you fantasy. Nothing is more sensual than holding my false reality in your hands for your eyes to caress. I have the power to transform your most personal and suppressed thoughts into what I wish you to dream. You see what I want. You snoop around in my circus of a mind. Only to discover you’ve been guided by my voice with every turning page. For you it is a journey, for me a release.

I carry no burdens. You carry them for me. Oblivious to the fact that you contract the emotions that I am injecting. Stories of terror will forever be feared. Love stories that warm you from deep within will forever have the ability be revisited. Memories embalmed into my bindings to forever be preserved. I yearn for your curiosity and humbly bow at your feet as you dance gracefully with my carefully chosen words. That my reader; that is why I write.  

Sister.

Please Share:
Maybe if enough people share this wherever she is, she will see it.

Happy birthday Christina, you are my sister, we are searching for you and always will. Know that you are never alone, my heart is with you always.

Searching For:
Birth Name: Christina Louisa Smith
Born: 2/16/75
Born At: WCA hospital
Location: Jamestown, New York

Contact: ivoryfishgold@gmail.com

My Summer of 1988

Ivory Smith
Journal Entry                                                                                                       Summer, 1988

I always seem to stress my Mother out. Everyone always tells her “you have the patience of a saint, or I don’t know how you do it.” I don’t know why they think that. She is always begging me to “stop or sit still,” or pleading with me that “the dentist office is not the place for gymnastics.” I never understood that one. Where exactly does she want me to do this stuff? She yells at me in the house too, “knock it off you’re going to bust your teeth out.” She knows I have to work on my skills. I figure that the place to get it done is either the dentist or doctor’s office, especially if I am going to lose teeth. I don’t understand a lot about what grownups think, their so strange. I have a condition called A.D.H.D. My mother tells everyone we come across. I’m not sure what it means, though I figure it means something like, Awesomely Doing Happy Deeds. Only because she starts telling everyone about it whenever I’m doing my karate moves with my imaginary friend Chuckles. I’ve never taken a karate class but Chuckles and I watch a lot of Zena. My mom tells me that the most important part of karate is in your mind. She always tells me when we’re practicing downstairs, to find a quiet place to meditate. That’s when Chuckles and I write songs. We are pretty good song writers. We sing about whichever room we are meditating in. Our favorite song is called The Wash Room. “Pile for darks pile for whites, We like the park, but not at night. We are ninjas in the wash room. Rah rah boom rah rah boom.” We got to sing it in Sunday School. My Aunt Jane is my teacher. She loves our moves. I get so excited when I go to Sunday school. Aunt Jane says she can see Chuckles, which makes sense cause in church people see all sorts of things.  She seems to see everything, even a holy ghost. Why there is a ghost with holes in it at church, I don’t know. Chuckles and I asked Pastor Bailey once why we couldn’t see it and he told us “You’ve got to have faith.” I know he knows what he’s talking about cause he’s got a whole church full of people that have it. Besides, I’ve heard the song too. My Mom blasts it when we go garage sailing on Saturday mornings. Something that famous has to be true. I try to tell mom that she has to have faith when she gets all worked up about how Chuckles and I act in public. She gets so mad sometimes she actually try’s to tell me he’s not real. As much as she listens to that George Michael cassette you’d think she’d understand. My Dad is my Aunt Jane’s brother. He says I’m special. He does my karate moves with me all the time. My mom always tells us to take our awesomeness outside that she’s going to have a breakdown. When I’m playing with my Dad, Chuckles isn’t with us. I’m pretty sure he’s meditating though. Any who, I gotta figure out how to get moms hairdryer out of this tree before she finds out that Chuckles took it. We used it as a machine gun against the invaders from the hedge yesterday and she’s been looking for it all day.

My Quilted Thoughts now has a column!

I'm so excited to share! I will be featured every Sunday! Here is my first article...

http://www.observertoday.com/page/content.detail/id/593328/Journey-full-of-treasures-to-remember.html

Unconditional.

     Love is finding a person in which completes you. Once you have found that person life alone becomes unfathomable. It's never having insecurities, or judgements. The feelings you have for that person overcome every other feeling you have ever felt. Stronger than hunger, stronger than pain. The touch of that person gives you butterflies. The smell of the person will make your heart take flight. The thought of the person could bring tears to your eyes for no reason. It is an impulse, involuntary and overwhelming. Once you have it, you will never question any other feelings, ever again.

A True Camping Story

       I was 12 when my Father led me out of the cabin door towards the pavilion for breakfast. The old cabin was just perfectly placed in the woods. It looked as if it were copied and pasted out of a country magazine. That classic “creek” to the door was ironically fitting. An invisible path directed us threw the tall maples and past some silent paper birch trees. The sun just barely bursted out of the arms of the trees and gave light to the roof top of the building. 
"Is that a black garbage bag dad?" I question him. "Why did you put it up there? Did you do it to keep it from the bears?" I inquired again. 
     A puzzled look began to graffiti across my father's face. He pressed a long strong arm across my chest like in the car when he shielded me from breaking to suddenly. I could feel his concern. His body language said it all. Something was wrong.
"Stop, that's no bag honey. That's a; not possible; no one's going to believe us; black panther." He whispered quietly. 
     Now normal children would have turned to tears but I was with a superhero. So I commented like any other girl in this situation would. "Dad, whoa, let’s check it out.” My Father is a good dad, but just like many others, he acted with the decision making skills of a 12 year old. Instead of walking me back to the cabin and locking the door, we investigated. I was not at all worried after all, he is a superhero.

     Smooth as butter sliding behind trees weaving in and out like Scooby Doo and Shaggy we approached. As we got about 20 yards away it stood with motions mimicking that of a house cat. It stretched mockingly to show its awesome long body, smooth chest and powerful muscles. So black it was almost metallic. It instantly humbled us. Aware of us and annoyed it stepped down off the pavilion roof like a tabby off a table. It loped across the lawn away from us, and gracefully stepped over our 5 foot ditch into the pasture. There we stood frozen, like lawn jockeys in awe, and it was gone. 
     Now of course no one believes us when we tell this amazing story, just as no one ever believed that my dad is a superhero. You can't tell me what I saw or what I know. I will tell you though without a doubt we seen a big black panther. Period. As far as my Father being a superhero, he scares away the boogeyman, even still today. He can make a quarter appear out from behind your ear and he's fearless in the presents of a black panther, so if you ask me he is definitely a superhero. 

A Dream

     I could feel the breath and smell the hunt. It chased me with incomprehensible speed. Between bushes and over the deep ruts of the field I shopped for an escape. My heart shuttered with panic. The briars ripping my feet reminded me of how delicate my life was. My being could not take me as fast as I needed to flee.

I must take flight, I thought.

    In an instant, I begin to hover, taking to the sky with an amazing thrust. Everything was black and white. I looked to my left and seen movement on my arm. Just then I began noticing the feathers birthing from my skin. Taking to the sky I slid threw the clouds. Closing my eyes I left the beast far below me. I could feel ribbons of sweet night air lathering my face with hope. Suddenly I stopped, like hitting a brick wall.
    Upon opening my eyes I found myself in a tree looking down onto a pond tightly wrapped in the arms of the field where I grew up. My reflection is that of a great owl proudly perched in the grandstands of a large willow. On the shore is my beast watching and admiring my fight. He is always there, strong, terrifying. Somehow within his commanding eyes I can find respect and honor.
    As our gazes met I was ripped from the tree diving to the water as if I were "witching" for it. I swam deep, so deep I could feel the pressure of a thousand vices crushing my mind. My ears were crying with a need of release. With that I changed, feeling my body except the destination that was not of my choosing. My feathers smoothed, and oil glazed my fur.
    A distant light grew brighter rippling in the movement of the waves.  Somehow I was going up. Quickening for air I demanded the surface. My face sprang to the sight of the moon. My lungs raped a breath of peppermint from the night, filling my chest with life. As gracefully as an otter I smoothed to the shore. Dancing in the aquatic play written by nature and performed by me. I made my way to the shore.
    I gripped the cattails I pulled myself up on to a bed of mint.  I submitted, stopped resisting, and gave myself to the fear of the dog. With dragonflies rocking like a mobile in the wind my long hair returned and wrapped around my shoulders. Goose bumps of dew peppered my naked skin and I fell asleep. Awaking in an instant to my colorful reality

Converse, The New Old Shoe

 My daughter is so cute...
"Mom, I love my new shoes... What kind of shoes did you have WAY BACK when you were my age?"
I confidently said..."22 years ago I wore Converse Kayla. I made them cool."
She made a really excited look..."Whoa that is sooo cool! They are still really popular at my school Mom! Like EVERYONE wears them!"
Yup, this is what it's come to. By noon today, everyone in the 2nd grade will think I am the awesomest bad ass ever:) Hopefully they'll grow up remembering that fact. I suppose maybe someday they'll watch "Popup Videos" and realize I had nothing to do with it. But until then, I am legend.

Lifes My Dragonfly

The sun sweetly kisses the awakening blossoms. It dries the dew, so kind.

The wind teases trees with a dream of movement. The trees although don't mind.

The berries are bursting with colors of red, purple and blue.

The soft smell of summer is so honest and true.

The fish as if flying, springing to the sky, to catch the dragonflies passing by.

Me?  I live here, yes, I do.

Everyday I wake up learning something new.

With my children and my husband and our little farm. They give me patience and love with all their charm.

Some I'm lucky, some say I'm strange, some say it sounds like "Home On The Range."

When I look at my field, over the trees
up,
     up,
          up,
               into the sky,

I imagine I'm a fish and life's my dragonfly.

Tears of love

        A tear slid down her face. How could this be a happy moment? One of those moments that will forever leave a mark, a milestone per say. Her heart thumped to the beat of a drum buried deep in her chest. There was a strong panic as she was gripping a tiny hand in her clammy fist. She had to try to hide it. There was a deafening silence in the life around her. Fear was in the air that smelled of grapes and apples ripe for harvest.
"How was this life ever going to be the same?" She whispered to her husband.
"You have to and you can." He calmly slid his hand down to the small of her back as if trying to support her, both physically and emotionally.
"We don't have to do this." she pleated.
"Yes we do, everything will be fine you'll see." He encouraged.
    She felt the sharp gravel under her bare feet, like shards of glass. As much as it hurt she was glad it was there. She hated every bit of this moment. What were her days going be filled with after this moment? She prayed silently,
 Please give me the strength to do what must be done. Please tell me everything will be OK.
    Through her welled eyes she could see it coming. She could barely breathe. The invisible string linking them will be broken and his independence will begin to grow. The door opened and his little hand drifted from her grip. Somehow she found a smile. She laughed a guttural laugh that she almost choked on.
"I love you." She said. Her husband gleamed with pride.
"I love you too Mommy and Daddy." Proudly and with the excitement of Christmas morning he climbed the stairs. The accordion style door slowly shut, the brake released and taillights was all she could see. She stood there motionless, full of the strangest feelings. Pride, love, fear, and loneliness rushed to her heart all at once. It was so overwhelming that it pushed tears down her flushed cheeks. Every instinct in her was screaming to fallow him.
"That was the hardest thing I have ever or will ever have to do." She confessed to her husband embracing him tightly.
"No its not honey, it’s when the school bus stops coming that will be the hardest, and he will still need you then. Our kids will always need you, forever." He cupped his hand in hers and led her slowly up to their beautiful home that they built with love and raised with faith, where she anxiously awaited to reunite with her perfect little son later that day.

Tears For Our Bandit

Tears fall calmly down my face,
as emotion rushes out my heart.

A bit of guilt and some what ifs, is all I can focus on threw my blurry sadness.

So old, so wise, so selfless.

I love you so much.
They love you so much.

Its impossible to ever express the vulnerability I feel right now.

You protected us, played with us, and guided our goats. You ran and swam with us, you scared away the boogie man. You chased bubbles and ate bumble bees, like a crazy ole dog. You couldn't hurt anything even if you tried, your heart was way to big. We will miss the "Wha? Wha? Wha?" you'd bark at the moon, threatening what would happen if it came any closer.

We shed our tears threw our swollen eyes. I don't think you knew how much you meant to this Fishgold family. We will always feel you in the breeze and smile at your thought. Your looking down at us high up near the moon chasing Cherry and Daisy I'm sure. We will see you again someday Detto but until then we will plant flowers on your resting place and pray to you. We will be sending kisses shaped like bubbles to heaven. So look for them.

Barefoot...

Take me to a place where needs are melon void. Where trees swallow my attention and dirt cuddles with my toes. I want to run threw a meadow to find a creek, and splash like a child, searching for treasure. I want to chase a dragonfly that danced by my shoulder, down into a valley blessed with black eyed suzie’s. Though we spook grazing deer, they do not run, just watch. As I would breath deep and smile, lying on my back, allowing the sun to cradle me in its arms. I wish this moment could take my hand and guide me to this peace every time I close my eyes.

The Cabin In The Woods

My son and I worked on this story (I only helped with sentence structure and grammor), last fall and he asked me if I would share...

It was a hot August night when my brother Jeff and I were hiking through the woods and found an abandoned cabin. The cabin was wooden and old. Some of the windows were smashed out and the door was hanging on one hinge. It was wrapped in the woods as if it were hiding from the rest of the world.

We hesitated as we started down the path to it. There was a strange silence in the woods almost like nature was trying to pretend it was not there. As we approached the cabin we couldn’t help but feel like something was watching us.

We walked in the cabin there was only an old type writer in the center of the room. There was a page sticking out of it. As I leaned over to try to read the paper, my brother gasped and pointed at the window. He said that he seen a young girl looking in at us and that she looked sickly! I did not turn in time to see her but I did see hands coming down the windows!

We flew out of the cabin very scared. We searched outside the building but couldn’t find anyone there. It didn’t make sense. As soon as we were sure that we were alone in the woods my brother and I ran as fast and as far as we could not looking back till we seen our house. We went in and never said a word to our parents. We knew Dad would get worried and think someone was messing with us. We knew we wanted to go back in the morning to check it out… as soon as we could gather our confidence.

        It was some time passed midnight and suddenly we awoke to “SLAM” outside of our bedroom. We mustard up our strength to step out of our door. We looked up and down the hallway again, there was no one there. Jeff took a nervous breath pointed and said to me that the girl was standing in the hallway behind me! I looked over my shoulder just in time to feel a quick cold burst of air blow past me. I didn’t see anything but as I was trying to figure out what just happened. Just then we heard a scream outside.

We ran to the window in the hallway. The moon was so bright and full. Finally I had seen her! She was standing by the edge of the woods where we had found the path to the cabin! She was wearing a plaid pea coat and looked old fashioned. We flew back to bed and tried to sleep but we couldn’t stop thinking about what we had seen. All that we had been through today was so crazy.

In the morning the house was quiet. We got out of bed and looked out the window again to see if she was still there. She wasn’t. Jeff and I asked our mom to pack our lunch so we could go for a hike in the woods and she agreed. We headed out just after breakfast. We walked path after path and we could not find the cabin it was as if it didn’t exist.

We went exactly the same way we had the day before but we could not find it. It had to have been hours. We just wanted to see if we could find an explanation or the girl in the woods. Maybe she needed help or something. Mostly we were just curious. We looked and looked. Talking back and forth about what was going on in the woods. How could the cabin have just disappeared?

Just as we were about to give up, we seen movement to the right of us. We looked over and somehow there was the cabin! Through the windows we could see flickering light as if there was a candle burning inside. We hid behind trees and snuck up to the door. The silence was overwhelming. Then out of the cabin came a “click, click, click, click”, there were thirteen of them.

I then told my brother that I thought it must have been that old type writer! We snuck up to the door and glanced in. There was no one inside. We walked slowly in. The floor had an eerie creak to it. There were stacks of paper on the table with titles, “The Smith’s”, “The Tory’s”, and “The Mathews”. We looked at the type writer and a chill went up our spines.

The type writer had a page sticking out of that said “The Fishgold’s”. That must have been the thirteen “clicks”. No one had gone in or out of the cabin since that had happened. We were right outside to see that. How could this be? As we turned to run out the door slammed shut and the candle went out.

We have been typing this story ever since. Waiting for the next curious child to wander out into the woods and take our place.  So that we can finally, rest in peace.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

My name is Jacob Fishgold. I play the drums and enjoy going golfing with my Dad. I live in a small country town in the state of New York. I have lots of land for my three dogs Bandit, Mylee, and Doc to run. I also have a cat. His name is Boomie and he is my favorite. We have lots of fish and a clam too. I go on walks and adventures with my brother Jeff and my sister Mikayla. That’s where I get most of my ideas. My Mom writes with me she helps me learn how to write. I love to shoot my bow, fish and go froggen, for frogs, tadpoles, and salamanders.