Dust was everywhere, mixed in with that fluffy insulation stuff that always made me cough. I'm probably on my way to getting some sort of respitory problem from that foul fuzz. Anyway- I was up in the attic getting the winter clothes down, and I came upon a slim cardboard box. This box was not pretty. It looked like it had been a hotel for mice or... something. Riddled with tiny holes as if it had been hit repeatedly with bird shot, the only distinguishible feature was the word PHOTOS, scrawled across the side in heavy black letters.
Aha! I remembered this box. I love looking at photographs, so I eagerly plunged my hands into the box (now up-graded to a treasure-chest in my mind), and pulled out little clusters of memories.
They were wonderful. Ranging from hilarious shots of Halloween costumes (including such gems as; washing machine, Interlochen bag-lady, school luch lady, and pineapple), to thing like graduations and the girls' baby pictures, vacations...I could go on, but- I won't, to spare you.
Why haven't I put any of these in frames or albums? Major failure on my part. Of course, I had meant to have each photo perfectly preserved in one of the many albums or frames I had, but that just never happened-- like a lot of little things around the house that had just 'never happened', that we'd 'never gotten around to'... hmmmm... .
I continued looking through the piles, until I came to the bottom. There was an old frame, lying face-down. I recognized it instantly; it was the one I had buried nearly 12 years ago so I wouldn't have to look at it anymore. Carefully, almost timidly, I picked it up and turned it over.
There she was, blanketed in a layer of dust, but in no way muffled. As if anything could silence her character. Nope, not Elizabeth Arlent. This picture was taken after one of her performances. She was a dancer, one of the best- the 'prima ballerina' in the Royal Ballet. She was getting ready for an after party. I should know, I was the one who took it.
Her gown was beautiful, made of champagne silk, strapless, the fabric sweeping across her waist to the hip, then billowing out in graceful folds to the floor. Her hair was sleek and pulled back into a tight knot. She had this odd expression on her face, it was very intense. Sometimes she would get that way when she was trying to get a point across to somebody, but most of the time, she was very up-beat. Vivacious, wild, a force to be reckoned with, but also kind and thoughtful, that was Elizabeth. She was always laughing.
I stared at that picture for a very long time. I had put it away because it had always made me miserable whenever I saw it. Elizabeth had passed-away only a few months after that picture was taken. My best friend Elizabeth was gone. It was strange that someone so full of life had just slowly faded away. I didn't understand, and I think it scared me. But I have no reason to be afraid- I've just been being a baby. She should be remembered, and celebrated, not hidden away in a dark, dusty attic full of out-dated insulation!
I stared at the picture for another long stretch of time until I heard the twins, Jane and Lizzie, tearing through the house looking for me. Jumping up in a puff of fluff, I climbed down the splintery attic stairs back to reality (whatever that is).
Elizabeth's picture rests in the living room now. I think it's a nice touch.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Monday, February 16, 2009
One day some time ago, in an old church covered in ivy, there was a wedding. As you and I know, weddings are all about love and happiness. I can assure you that this wedding was not lacking in either category, but it is up to you to decide whether or not, in the end, this story is one of those rare, 'happily ever after' tales.
Now, in this church there lived a very large family of mice. The youngest, whose name was had never seen a wedding. His friends and sibling crowded around him, telling him all about the delights of matrimony.
"The humans are actually happy for once!"
"So many pretty things.... flowers....ribbons...."
"No one notices a bit of mischief."
"Who cares about all that, it's the cake that's important!"
And with that remark, there began a frenzy of excited voices describing such wonders that was filled with fierce longing to experience them for himself. So, when the little church began to fill up with people and the mice could hear their laughter everywhere, set out to find a spot where he could be part of A Wedding. He scurried along until he found a place looking down at the altar near the top pipes of the organ. So when the first notes of the bridal march blasted next to his sensitive ears he let out a high squeak of surprise, clamped his paws down over his ears, and squeezed his eyes shut until it was over and he could hear himself think again. Because of this, he was not prepared for the sight before him when he at last re-opened his eyes. And when he saw a lady in white holding a bouquet of wildflowers with a smile on her face and her wide brown eyes shining with happiness, the mouse, if you can believe it, fell in love.
And because the mouse fell in love with a 'princess', his eyes never left her face, and when the wedding party moved into a separate chamber of the church, he followed them, climbing into the rafters and running along overhead. And when the bride and groom moved towards the cake, scrambled down onto the lowest tiers of an old, somewhat decrepit chadelier. Hanging on by his tail, he concentrated on the bride's face so much that he lost his grip on the chandelier.
He fell right into the cake.
And when he popped up a few moments later, his wiskers coated in vanilla frosting, the bride's mother gave out a great shriek;
"AAAIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEK!!!! There is a MOUSE! In your CAKE!!!!!"
There was then a great intake of breath before all of the ladies in the church began squealing like frenzied pigs. All that is, except for the bride, who stood looking our little mouse in the eye with a quizzical expression on her face. You see, she was not angry. Somehow, she knew that the mouse now staring up at her had only wanted to be a part of something beautiful. So, reaching out, she gently picked up in one hand and brought him up to her face. And then, after a moment, she did something very strange. She placed a kiss on the top of his head, right between his ears.
It was very strange, and I bet you are wondering why she did it. Well, I can't tell you why she did it, I am just here to tell you what happened. I will say that in stories princesses (or brides in this case), do very odd things sometimes and no one ever knows why.
But I can tell you that at that very moment, friends and siblings decided to make their move on the cake. And although the bride's mother was still in hysterics, she still posessed enough sense to identify the rest of the uninvited guests with a round of shrieking that surpassed any other sound that had yet been made on this earth. As she carried on shrieking, her face turned the most alarming shade of purple, until at last, she swooned and collapsed onto the floor.
At that time, the mice saw that thier plan was ruined, and they retreated back into their shelter behind the walls. The bride set down on the ground, but the little mouse did not move.
Now, in this church there lived a very large family of mice. The youngest, whose name was had never seen a wedding. His friends and sibling crowded around him, telling him all about the delights of matrimony.
"The humans are actually happy for once!"
"So many pretty things.... flowers....ribbons...."
"No one notices a bit of mischief."
"Who cares about all that, it's the cake that's important!"
And with that remark, there began a frenzy of excited voices describing such wonders that was filled with fierce longing to experience them for himself. So, when the little church began to fill up with people and the mice could hear their laughter everywhere, set out to find a spot where he could be part of A Wedding. He scurried along until he found a place looking down at the altar near the top pipes of the organ. So when the first notes of the bridal march blasted next to his sensitive ears he let out a high squeak of surprise, clamped his paws down over his ears, and squeezed his eyes shut until it was over and he could hear himself think again. Because of this, he was not prepared for the sight before him when he at last re-opened his eyes. And when he saw a lady in white holding a bouquet of wildflowers with a smile on her face and her wide brown eyes shining with happiness, the mouse, if you can believe it, fell in love.
And because the mouse fell in love with a 'princess', his eyes never left her face, and when the wedding party moved into a separate chamber of the church, he followed them, climbing into the rafters and running along overhead. And when the bride and groom moved towards the cake, scrambled down onto the lowest tiers of an old, somewhat decrepit chadelier. Hanging on by his tail, he concentrated on the bride's face so much that he lost his grip on the chandelier.
He fell right into the cake.
And when he popped up a few moments later, his wiskers coated in vanilla frosting, the bride's mother gave out a great shriek;
"AAAIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEK!!!! There is a MOUSE! In your CAKE!!!!!"
There was then a great intake of breath before all of the ladies in the church began squealing like frenzied pigs. All that is, except for the bride, who stood looking our little mouse in the eye with a quizzical expression on her face. You see, she was not angry. Somehow, she knew that the mouse now staring up at her had only wanted to be a part of something beautiful. So, reaching out, she gently picked up in one hand and brought him up to her face. And then, after a moment, she did something very strange. She placed a kiss on the top of his head, right between his ears.
It was very strange, and I bet you are wondering why she did it. Well, I can't tell you why she did it, I am just here to tell you what happened. I will say that in stories princesses (or brides in this case), do very odd things sometimes and no one ever knows why.
But I can tell you that at that very moment, friends and siblings decided to make their move on the cake. And although the bride's mother was still in hysterics, she still posessed enough sense to identify the rest of the uninvited guests with a round of shrieking that surpassed any other sound that had yet been made on this earth. As she carried on shrieking, her face turned the most alarming shade of purple, until at last, she swooned and collapsed onto the floor.
At that time, the mice saw that thier plan was ruined, and they retreated back into their shelter behind the walls. The bride set down on the ground, but the little mouse did not move.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Letter to an Author- 2nd Draft
Dear Ms. Levine,
I can honestly say that I have read Ella Enchanted 31 times. Really, I have. I know, it seems silly. Why read a book more than once or twice? I know the beginning, I know the middle, and of course I know the end... I've practically got the entire book memorized, but I just can't help it.
Every time I read it, I still feel the excitement that I felt the first time, but underneath it, there is another feeling that I can't quite describe. It's like seeing your best friend again after years apart. The characters themselves have become real. Some people might say that I'm a little too old to actually believe that anymore, but I don't think that anyone can ever be too old to believe in something.
It's not just the characters, either. It's the story too. The way that Ella finds the strength overcome the Curse in order to save the ones she loves is very inspiring. I love the way that it is based on the story of Cinderella, but has that twist that makes it its own, and also includes the ideas of self-actualization and empowerment. It's definitely not your typical fairy tale where some brainless damsel in distress is waiting around to be rescued by a sapp named Prince Charming. Quite the opposite, in fact.
Anyway, I just wanted to let you know how much your book means to me, I've been reading it ever since I was nine years old. Now I'm 15, and the story becomes more powerful everytime. Watch, I'll be 90 and still reading it! I guess that what I'm trying to say is; your book is pure magic- and that never gets old.
I would also like to add that I am not crazy, I just like to read...a lot. Really, what would the world be without books?
Sincerely,
Jessica Kaisoum
I can honestly say that I have read Ella Enchanted 31 times. Really, I have. I know, it seems silly. Why read a book more than once or twice? I know the beginning, I know the middle, and of course I know the end... I've practically got the entire book memorized, but I just can't help it.
Every time I read it, I still feel the excitement that I felt the first time, but underneath it, there is another feeling that I can't quite describe. It's like seeing your best friend again after years apart. The characters themselves have become real. Some people might say that I'm a little too old to actually believe that anymore, but I don't think that anyone can ever be too old to believe in something.
It's not just the characters, either. It's the story too. The way that Ella finds the strength overcome the Curse in order to save the ones she loves is very inspiring. I love the way that it is based on the story of Cinderella, but has that twist that makes it its own, and also includes the ideas of self-actualization and empowerment. It's definitely not your typical fairy tale where some brainless damsel in distress is waiting around to be rescued by a sapp named Prince Charming. Quite the opposite, in fact.
Anyway, I just wanted to let you know how much your book means to me, I've been reading it ever since I was nine years old. Now I'm 15, and the story becomes more powerful everytime. Watch, I'll be 90 and still reading it! I guess that what I'm trying to say is; your book is pure magic- and that never gets old.
I would also like to add that I am not crazy, I just like to read...a lot. Really, what would the world be without books?
Sincerely,
Jessica Kaisoum
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Writing Assignment #2
Drip…drip…drip… It was raining- again. The house was a horror, to be sure. It was hardly a desired vacation destination. Oh yes, Jane was having a lovely winter holiday stuck inside of an old decrepit ‘mansion’ that could only be described as being perpetually dark, damp, and having a funny smell that no one had yet been able to name. She sat in an (of course) old, rickety armchair trying to absorb as much of the feeble gray light that strained through the windows to reach the cramped parlor as possible, glancing up once in a while from Jane Eyre (her namesake), to scan the lush green landscape outside.
Her attention returned to her book for a brief moment before her eyes flicked around the room again. A thin shaft of light illuminated tiny dust particles floating lazily through the air. The extent of Jane’s boredom was so great that she actually began counting them as they drifted past on their mission to blanket the entire interior of the house; ‘One…two…three…what was that?’
There was a movement, down by the floor. The edge of an ancient tapestry hanging from the wall was fluttering slightly. That tapestry looked as if it were near the end of its days. It barely clung to the dark wood of the wall and appeared threadbare even from across the room. The only part of it that was somewhat well-preserved was the bottom-right corner, still fluttering. There the image of a tiny stag in mid stride on a dark green background was still visible.
Setting her book down on a scratched mahogany drawing-table, Jane rose from her creaky armchair, stretched, and walked quietly across the room towards the tapestry to investigate. She studied the phenomenon for a moment, then crouched down near the corner of cloth and stuck her hand out. ‘This is just like Indiana Jones,’ she thought as she felt a weak stream of air blowing out from behind the tapestry. She ran her hands along the wall until she felt a thin seam in the wood where the air current came from. She pushed against the wall, it didn’t budge. She shoved against it again and heard a slight rattle from above and stood up. Pulling aside the ragged tapestry, a small swinging handle was revealed. ‘Right, that makes sense,’ she thought, and pulled open a narrow door.
Compared to the once grand furnishings of the rest of the house, the passageway leading on was surprisingly bare. The slanting walls were unfinished, the plaster left uncovered and rough, and a few fragments of the ceiling fell and settled themselves in Jane’s hair as she closed the door behind herself.
It seemed to go on forever, Jane couldn’t remember the house being this big…until at last she turned a corner and nearly died of a heart attack when she found herself face to face with Jonathan (never Jon, always Jonathan- or else he would completely ignore whomever it was that had made such an outrageous error), the ‘grounds-keeper’. He was a decent fellow, just a bit odd in some respects. He was tall, thin, and had wispy white hair that he covered with a floppy hat that was covered with the strangest assortment of little artifacts that he found aesthetically pleasing if no one else did.
Both of them were clutching their hearts and gasping for breath for a while before Jonathan asked; “What are you doing down here, Jane?”
Jane shrugged her shoulders and replied; “I don’t know, I was just bored out of my mind! What is this place supposed to be, anyway?”
Jonathan looked down and said; “Well I don’t know…you have plaster in your hair.” He then turned and walked quickly down the hall calling back; “Have a nice day, see you tomorrow.”
‘What,’ Jane thought; ‘How strange….why was he trying to change the subject?’ She shook her head and looked down at her watch, then realized that she’d been on her excursion for nearly an hour, and rushed off back the way she came.
When she made it back to the parlor, she carefully shut the door behind her and pulled the tapestry back into place, still puzzled by Jonathan’s odd (more so than usual) behavior. Just then her mother carefully opened the door to announce that dinner was nearly ready.
She looked at Jane for a moment and then asked; “Jane, why is your hair covered in bits of plaster?”
Her attention returned to her book for a brief moment before her eyes flicked around the room again. A thin shaft of light illuminated tiny dust particles floating lazily through the air. The extent of Jane’s boredom was so great that she actually began counting them as they drifted past on their mission to blanket the entire interior of the house; ‘One…two…three…what was that?’
There was a movement, down by the floor. The edge of an ancient tapestry hanging from the wall was fluttering slightly. That tapestry looked as if it were near the end of its days. It barely clung to the dark wood of the wall and appeared threadbare even from across the room. The only part of it that was somewhat well-preserved was the bottom-right corner, still fluttering. There the image of a tiny stag in mid stride on a dark green background was still visible.
Setting her book down on a scratched mahogany drawing-table, Jane rose from her creaky armchair, stretched, and walked quietly across the room towards the tapestry to investigate. She studied the phenomenon for a moment, then crouched down near the corner of cloth and stuck her hand out. ‘This is just like Indiana Jones,’ she thought as she felt a weak stream of air blowing out from behind the tapestry. She ran her hands along the wall until she felt a thin seam in the wood where the air current came from. She pushed against the wall, it didn’t budge. She shoved against it again and heard a slight rattle from above and stood up. Pulling aside the ragged tapestry, a small swinging handle was revealed. ‘Right, that makes sense,’ she thought, and pulled open a narrow door.
Compared to the once grand furnishings of the rest of the house, the passageway leading on was surprisingly bare. The slanting walls were unfinished, the plaster left uncovered and rough, and a few fragments of the ceiling fell and settled themselves in Jane’s hair as she closed the door behind herself.
It seemed to go on forever, Jane couldn’t remember the house being this big…until at last she turned a corner and nearly died of a heart attack when she found herself face to face with Jonathan (never Jon, always Jonathan- or else he would completely ignore whomever it was that had made such an outrageous error), the ‘grounds-keeper’. He was a decent fellow, just a bit odd in some respects. He was tall, thin, and had wispy white hair that he covered with a floppy hat that was covered with the strangest assortment of little artifacts that he found aesthetically pleasing if no one else did.
Both of them were clutching their hearts and gasping for breath for a while before Jonathan asked; “What are you doing down here, Jane?”
Jane shrugged her shoulders and replied; “I don’t know, I was just bored out of my mind! What is this place supposed to be, anyway?”
Jonathan looked down and said; “Well I don’t know…you have plaster in your hair.” He then turned and walked quickly down the hall calling back; “Have a nice day, see you tomorrow.”
‘What,’ Jane thought; ‘How strange….why was he trying to change the subject?’ She shook her head and looked down at her watch, then realized that she’d been on her excursion for nearly an hour, and rushed off back the way she came.
When she made it back to the parlor, she carefully shut the door behind her and pulled the tapestry back into place, still puzzled by Jonathan’s odd (more so than usual) behavior. Just then her mother carefully opened the door to announce that dinner was nearly ready.
She looked at Jane for a moment and then asked; “Jane, why is your hair covered in bits of plaster?”
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