Also today I went to the grocery store with Dad. This was our list:
salsa
onions
cheese
bread
hamburger buns

This is what he tried to convince me to buy:
apples
butter pecan syrup
pecan pie
pastry
some kind of soup
apples (again)
basically everything we happened to walk past

Then we ended up standing in the middle of the deli area because someone he knew was there, and they were talking. Whilst the deli counter lady was calling to me from behind, and Dad was not telling me what kind of cheese to get, so I asked for sharp chedder. This prompted the deli lady to go into great depth telling me that they did not have sharp cheddar, well actually they did but it was expensive and–
Me: “OK, never mind…”
Lady: “Do you want a half pound of it? A quarter? Are you sure? Do you want a slice to taste? Here it is, it’s good, it’s wrapped in wax.” (because only legit sharp cheddar is wrapped in wax, apparently)
Me: “No, seriously–”
Lady: “Oh, I see, you’re sorry you even asked.”
Me: …………………….
Dad: “Ask for some colby jack.”

You see why I juse loooooove shopping.

Now Dad is actually cooking the hamburgers, and sighing and talking to himself and– “Oops, somethin’s on fire.”

Oh boy.

~Pen

PS: Yes, the title is from Annie Oakley. Yes, I remember that from third grade. Though not the accompanying dance moves, sadly.

So much has happened between Christmas and now that I feel like I have to catch up. Christmas was awesome, obviously, and New Years was extremely lame (Mom says we need to come up with a new tradition– I vote for playing games because…) my birthday was SUPER FUN and it involved going to the park, eating delicious food, being with my friends, and playing Spot It with my family. Grandpa kept shouting “whale!” for the dolphin, and it was so fun playing games with everyone. I also got a birdfeeder for my bedroom window (no birds have found it yet even though some sparrows live in a holly bush literally five feet away).Oh, and we had cookies.

Being seventeen is waaaaaaay more enjoyable (so far) than being sixteen. I don’t know why; I just felt like at sixteen there were somehow all these societal expectations– driving, working, being a grownup yet a typical teenager. I hated telling people I was sixteen! But now, I’m seventeen and I feel like the pressure is off– if I’m not driving now I must be waiting until eighteen and the same with everything else. I’m in an in-between age where nothing in particular is expected of me and I love it. (Perhaps that is why I loved being fifteen as well…. So nineteen must be my next fun age. Hm.) I feel like I have the freedom to “stretch” and evolve at my own pace and not rush into things just because I’m now old enough for it.

I wish I could vote, though. (Not that citizens get to vote on anything important [cough, SOPA/PIPA].)

The other main thing that I have been doing lately is writing. I am so excited about the way that White Funeral is shaping up. It’s different from the original in many ways, yet I feel like it’s closer to the original concept. Things haven’t really changed, it’s just that I understand them better now. So things that I’m adding are things that I feel were in the original, just not fully revealed or explored. I’m really having fun unveiling things, and feeling like, “oh, that’s what I really meant when I said that”. Sometimes I think my subconscious writes and I just try to follow along.

Oh, and one more thing: I taught my dog Lily to speak! (I mean bark on command. If she was really holding conversations with me I would have mentioned it earlier.) Anyway, she does the trick perfectly… unless other people are watching.
Me: “Dad, watch, I taught the dog to speak.”
Dad: “Wow, she learned English? When did that happen?”
Me: “Noooooo… You know what I mean.”
Dad: “She does that too much already.”
Me: “No. She’s a good doggie! Lily, wanna treat?”
Dad: “Too much noise…”
Me: “Lily! Lily! Sit. Good. Speak!”
Lily: ………. *tail wagging*
Me: “Speak!”
Lily: …………*staring hungrily at treat*
Me: “Lily, speak!”
Lily: ………. *squirms*
Me: “Speak, Lily! Speeeeeak!”
Lily: “woof-BARK!”
Dad: “Wow. Amazing.”
Lily: *sneezes on me*
Me: “Thanks…”

I can hardly believe it’s so close to Christmas. With moving and all that, Advent went by as a blur of purple and what?-already?-pink. But the tree is up (with a new piece of tape on the stand, as is traditional), the lights are lit, and the gifts are wrapped. I bought the last of mine two days ago… Example number five thousand and one of how I am a procrastinator. I always want to find the Perfect Present to give people. Something unique! And cool! Yet useful! Soooo, yeah. Luckily Mom knows of all cool stores ever and was also willing to drive me there even in her slightly stressed mood. We went into the first one, where I got __________ for ______, but did not find anything else. Then we went into a ____ store so I could look for ______, but did not find any, so then as we got into the car…
Mom: “Oh my gosh. Ohhh my gosh. We’ve been in like a ton of stores and you haven’t found anything!!!”
Me: “Um. We’ve been in two stores, and one of them was like a fake Hallmark. And I actually did buy something. So… be calm.”
Mom: “Oh. Right.”
So then I kept doing my impression of her freaking out, which made her laugh, and I found the rest of my presents in the third store we went to. All was well.

It even snowed this morning, and there was a GORGEOUS first snow last week which actually stuck and was awesome and cool. I took a walk through my new neighborhood in it, and got a bit lost. I was going to follow my tracks home, but the snow was falling rapidly and I didn’t really want to go the same way I had come. The unknown was calling me! Oh, and I heard the bells ringing from the nearby church, which gave me some idea of which direction I should walk in. I eventually made it home… Though at one point I was a little afraid I would be doomed to become the Lost Soul of Serborn, doomed to wander suburbia forever in search of home.

Buuut then I heard very familiar barking, and realized I was right around the corner from my house.

Humans: 1. Cul-de-sacs: 0.  

Right now Dodge is pretending to spy on me from the other side of the Christmas tree, and Dad is listening to cats meowing Jingle Bells.

Yep. It feels like Christmas now… 

The other night I had a dream in which I was talking to my mom, and I said “Hey, tomorrow is Thursday.” But she said,  “No, tomorrow’s Christmas!” and I shouted “YAY!” and did a happy dance. I think I’m aging backward this year. :)

In that case, YAY!!! CHRISTMAS!!!

Merry Christmas everybody!

Love,
Pen

Hi.

Did you miss me?

Yeah. I’m a little insane right now, from not having the internet in a week, or more, I think. I;ve been able to access email once or twice, and look up a few things in bits and scraps. To do this post, I had to outwit a computer at the school where my mom works. It’s all because we’re living at our new house now (yay! I must say, unpacking is way better than packing.) and the internets have not yet been connected. Tomorrow is the day we’re back online. I hope.

I mean, I didn’t think not having internet would have this big of an effect on me. I consider myself very low-tech. Anti-tech, sometimes. Convenience, bah humbug! But the past few days have proven me pretty wrong.

Still, I guess it’s been good. I’ve been reading real books a lot more. Plus, my room is pretty much unpacked; I’m just working out the details. I can see the moon setting as I lay in bed– I saw the lunar eclipse the other night. I have been looking out of the spy-hole in the side door, and gazing at the sky, learning where everything is and what is around me. The new house is starting to feel like home….

From beyond the realm of internet,
Pen

Insanity.

We’re throwing things into Dad’s new (insanely yellow) truck and the back of the van, driving back and forth to the new house, putting things in bedroom closets and basement corners. One of my tasks was to pack up all the Precious Moments figurines from the dining room hutch. Then Mom made me organize them in some theme-related manner, the result of which was me trying to make the boxes fit into other boxes in an optimal-usage-of-space. It’s a new game I like to call…. Precious Tetris! Every time I finished a box (oh yes, there were many boxes of boxes) it was Next Level time. I also played Mini Tetris by packing small, breakable items inside of loaf pans.

I also packed:
One million rolls of film (Mom told me to label the box, so I wrote “Please Develop These!”)
CDs (and casett tapes. …..really?)
nature items (feathers, shells, rocks, a bit of a wasp nest– what’s a bedroom without them?)
all my books (*cries*)
an electric typewriter (there is truly nothing like it for curbing the inner editor! I get good ideas while typing on it, which happened yesterday night while I was there…)
most of my clothes (I have a huge closet now, and I take up one fourth of it.)

Poncho packs like four toy guns in a box and takes it over. Then this morning he was complaining that he has no boxes. Hmm, I wonder how that happened.

We also took over the Christmas tree, which will now be kept in the basement, since the new house doesn’t exactly have an attic.

Dad: “I’ll sure miss throwing it down the stairs.”
Mom: “We could throw it down the stairs after…?”

I know. The loss of a lovely Christmas tradition. But, the way the ceiling peaks in the new living room prompted Dad to suggest that we get an extra-humongous tree. “It could be like the White House tree.”
Me: “Christmas at the gray house.”
Dodge: “How would we decorate it?”

It’s going to be interesting having Christmas at the new house. I’m pretty excited…. But not about packing more boxes, or vaccuuming more baskets, or seeing another square inch of contact paper…. But at least by the end of this madness I’ll be really, really good at Tetris. ;)

~Pen

Anyway…. I needed a brain break. My head is partially exploding because, well, I have a lot of things to get ready for the new house (we signed the lease yesterday… woot? yay?) and the thought of going through the chaos of my bedroom is enough to give a delicate creature such as myself a headache.

[This is a bit off topic, but yesterday we all got our pictures taken for this parish directory thing, and the picture-taking lady kept calling me "princess". I was like I HATE PRINCESSES inside, but on the outside I just smiled and went along with it. Why do picture taking people always rub me the wrong way? They're always tilting my head and pushing my shoulders back and saying inane things in an attempt to make me smile. "On a count of three, say 'We never fight'" she said while taking a pciture of me and the brothers. "We cannot tell a lie," I said through my teeth.]

Wow, that was a long tangent. Anyway, yeah. I’m excited, but also procrastinating by first trying to work on writing, then by writing a blog post. Then by eating a sandwhich while writing a blog post (why didn’t anyone tell me we had lunchmeat? Food hoarders).

Now I am staring out of the front window. Sometimes I do this in the middle of writing things. I stare out, and depending on my mood, I might contemplate the sky, the clouds, the trees… or smashing the asphalt open with a sledgehammer. You know. Peaceful, happy thoughts.

~Pen

PS: “sword” is “words” rearranged. That’s telling, no?

Mom: “I’m really stressed, OK? I’m under extreme stress.”
Dad: (sarcastically) “No way, really?”
Me: shaking my head in the background and mouthing ‘not cool’ to Dad.
Dad: “I mean… what can we help you with? Do you need something?…. I like your Eeyore sweatshirt.”

Then we all just burst out laughing. 

So, happy 11th birthday, Poncho!

Love,
Pen

PS: dear blog readers… I didn’t mean to be gone that long, alas. Life’s been crazy (Halloween, movie making, writing, house hunting– and finding!) but I’m back now. :)

PPS: Like the new header? Picture is courtesy of Dodge’s fab photography skills. He also had to help me upload it as I clicked the mouse a hundred times, frumiously saying ”It’s not loading! It’s not loading!” 
Dodge: “What are you going to do when you need to download stuff for two hours? New computers need that.”
Me: “You’ll do it for me. Right?”
Dodge: “Riight.”

Dear sentries of knowledge, dear keepers of treasured volumes, I beseech you.

Please sort your teen section.

I am an avid reader and frequent patron of the County public library system as a whole, and of the Brooklyn branch in particular. What I have found during my forays into the so-called “teen” fiction section is this: there are so, so many books marked “teen” that should not be.

I must express my intense frustration at the categorizing of many of these books. In the publishing world, there are categories called “Middle Grade”, “Upper Middle Grade”, and “Young Adult” (also called “YA”). Note that nowhere is there such a word as “teen”, for the simple reason that it does not work. Specific age does not determine what a person reads; reading level, intellect, and personal maturity do. There is no way to categorize such things, because it so vastly varies from person to person.

Now, I do see the benefit in having a label such as “teen”. Lots of people fit into it. It sounds “cool” (note my use of quotations here to convey my disdain at this notion). Besides, those younger than YA will happily glide into a section marked “teen”.

That is just the problem. I am on the older end of YA, and do not enjoy having to sift through innumerable titles that seem plucked from my fourth-, fifth-, and sixth-grade bookshelves. Instead of feeling welcomed and relaxed in the section of the library allegedly set aside for my age group, I feel foolish, forced to browse through titles written for people four years younger than myself. Again, I must stress that it is the personal which determines what one will/won’t read. There are certainly enough mature thirteen-year-olds out there, but they will naturally read ‘ahead’ of their years— whereas someone like me is bothered by books that are too young for me being labeled as for my age group.

This is why I propose—nay, beg—the separation “teen” and “YA”. Vaguely aged and/or Upper Middle Grade could be put into a “teen” section, and books for older teens/young adults into a “YA” section. At the least, they need distinctive stickers on their spines. I feel that this will make things clearer for everyone, while also easing and enhancing the browsing experiences of your youthful readers.                                                                                                                     

Yours Most Sincerely,
Pen

Then I found myself
                                            f
                                               a
                                                  l
                                                     l
                                                       i
                                                          n
                                                            g
                                                                .
                                                                   .
                                                                      .
for a very
long
time
and I had a dream that I was Alice
falling
           and falling
                            and falling
                                         down the rabbit hole…

Mom was calling my name. Oh, I thought, it must be morning. I opened my eyes.

About forty people were staring down at me. I was at church!? Suddenly I realized that I must have fainted. Someone was behind me pulling my hair off my face. Mom was putting my feet up on the pew. About three other people came over and told me to lie down, which I already was doing, and one lady reached over to check my pulse. Mom borrowed someone’s cell phone and called Dad and told him to come and carry me out, and then she started crying. Which made me feel bad, but also worried because I wanted all the strangers to get away from me. All the people were asking questions and saying things, and suggesting taking me out in a wheelchair.
Me: “I can walk! I can walk! I’m OK!”

Two ladies (who informed me they were nurses) helped me stand up and walk out of the church. Then they sat me in a chair in the hall, Mom following after, still crying.
Mom: “What was I thinking? My husband has a gimp knee, he won’t be able to carry her…”
Me: (musing) ”How peculiar…” Also, embarassing.

Dad finally did show up, and I thanked the nurse ladies. They told me that next time I felt like I was going to faint, that I should sit down so I’d have shorter to fall. “You’re a tall girl, you know,” they said, while I was thinking: I’m only five foot four!

Once we got home, Mom made me lie on the couch and eat honey on toast. Now we could laugh about the experience… Well, mostly. She refused to leave my side (and is still sitting near me as I write this).

Mom: “An usher actually had to walk me out of the church. They were like, ‘Don’t worry, ma’am, this happens at least once a week.’”
Me: “Did it make a loud noise? Did I hit the floor?”
Mom: “No, you fainted very gracefully. It was like Pride and Prejudice.”
Poncho: “Or like the lady on the Masterpiece Mystery beginning… *sigh!* Also, I saved your hat from the flith of the floor.” 
Mom: “Did you realize that you said ‘how peculiar’, like Alice?”

I guess I still felt like her a little bit. 

It was a very peculiar sensation, fainting, and I’m actually glad I have experienced it– now I’ll be able to write about it accurately if any of my characters have a fainting spell! Downside: Mom might start carrying smelling salts with her to church.

I was actually hoping I might have woke up with some new power, like an accent or the ability to play electric guitar. Doesn’t that happen to people who faint? Oh no, wait. That’s when you get struck by lightning. NEVER MIND.

But I promise I’m OK now. (Seriously, Mom. I. Promise.)

Well, I am having terrible allergic reactions, or it might be a cold. Not really sure of anything except the fact that I can’t breathe properly, and my head feels like it weighs a ton. Last night I was sitting in the dining room with a headache and I felt like my forehead must have become like Poe’s in “The Exiles”, overly huge and faintly glowing. Plus, I think my subconscious has been affected because I had a dream that involved Lady Gaga, my new Irish dance steps, and a yellow ceramic chicken.

And a few nights ago I had a dream that I was reciting Lincoln’s Gettysburg address in the rain, in the middle of a strip-mall parking lot, in order to convince someone to lend me their cell phone because I was lost. Weirdly, my tactics worked and I got the phone. Unfortunately, I realized I didn’t know the number. Then I said, “What the heck? I can memorize the Gettyburg address, but not my best friend’s phone number?”

Maybe the point of the dream was that I need to rethink my memorizational priorities. However, there was also a sinister pumpkin-murder scene, so… what? ‘By the way, be on the lookout for vengeful jack-o-lanterns?’ Thanks, Subconscious. Very helpful.

Anyway… Randomness commence!

I am turning into a squirrel… I am harvesting things madly and storing them away in all manner of ways. My bedroom (or should I say nest?) smells “earthy” as Mom says. Also, I ran into the road and was nearly hit by a car.

This weekend I am going to see “The Taming of the Shrew” with Mom. (Hopefully I will not cough/sneeze in the middle of it.) Yay, Shakespeare! And here is the illustrious Bard himself, on my closet door, helpfully saying one of his best quotes.

"If words be wind, then break them in your face!"

That, my friends, is why Shakespeare is classic. Sure, his language is different, but the main points are things we all experience. (Also: proof that boys never change.)

The cricket outside my window just made a depressed little “crick-crick” noise. Usually he is enthusiastic to the point of almost becoming obnoxious, but now I feel bad for the poor guy. “Crick-crick”, there he goes again, slow and quiet. I know, little guy, summer is o-ver.
Mom: “Remember just a few weeks ago, it was so hot we couldn’t stay at our house?”
Me: “Remember how I had a mental breakdown like every five minutes?”
Mom: (with a pained look) ”Yes.”
Me: “I think my brain cells were getting baked or something.”
Mom: just sips her Coke knowingly.
Me: “I’m going to say I’m sad summer’s over. But I’m really not.”

(Augh! A gnat was flying at me so I waved it away, and touched it by accident! Gross.)

Well, I think I shall bid thee good day…

~Pen