Archive for the ‘non-fiction’ Category

Sometimes I Don’t Say I Love You

sometimes

I don’t tell you about

the fear, the hurt, the pain

I lean on silence, which falls in between the

smiling, laughing, hiding


sometimes I don’t say I miss you

you are not mine to miss

too many goodbyes and not enough hellos

are reminders of the uncertainty


sometimes I don’t say I need you

when the storm rages at night

needing is weak, and weakness is vulnerable

and vulnerability is terrifying


sometimes I don’t say anything

letting seconds, minutes, moments slip by

and I fall mute

even though inside, im shouting

and holding on with my heart


sometimes I don’t say I love you

because I fear if I say

it

ill lose you

and never be able to say it again


but, im always saying I love you

in thought, word, and deed

in the moments following

a kiss

a smile

a laugh

a tear

and every moment in between


and the missing, the needing, the wanting, the loving

are there

and everywhere

waiting

and although sometimes I don’t say I love you,

I do.


Welcome to my first foray in poetry, dear readers!  I’ve never been one to wax poetic, as it were, but I’ve been more and more inspired lately to try my hand at writing poems.  I know basically nothing about this fine art, so any advice or ideas would be greatly appreciated! Special thanks to Chase for some last minute edits!

Happy Tuesday, all!  Tune in tomorrow for another round of Stick Figure Movie Review with “The King’s Speech,” starring Geoffrey Rush and Colin Firth!

What’s My Line?

A good name can get you far in life.  Apple.  Elvis.  Madonna.  Nike.  But, a great tagline can get you remembered.  I am not a crook.  You like me, you really like me!  I’m lovin’ it.   Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.

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In the Blog-O-Sphere, you need to have a great title to attract readers to your sight.  Even with posts, you must be creative, witty, and informative when labeling each and every article.  “A Post About Doctors” is not nearly as fun and enticing as “Turn Your Head and Cough.” A great title can help or hinder a sight from rising to great heights.

When thinking up a moniker for your site, however, there is a sub-title which can be applied, as well.  This is called the tagline, and it serves to offer another label to define your blog.  The taglines I’ve seen have typically been humorous, or even straight to the point.  A blog about travel.  A site for mothers.  Straight from the horse’s mouth.  Over the river and through the woods. A few more words to leave you with to give the blog more character.  Simple and effective.

For the past 2 months, Miracle on 32nd Street has exhibited a very festive holiday theme, which was retired for the season this past Monday.  I also updated my blog picture, opting to also store away the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree logo until next November.  I’m beginning to take down the rest of the holiday remnants, which will be completed by the end of the week, but there is one item that leaves me scratching my head:  the tagline.

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Tag(line)! You’re it! Keep on reading…

I Want Magic

imageI want something magical to happen.

Do you ever find yourself wishing that the impossible wasn’t so impossible?  Do you sit at home, late at night, fantasizing about scenarios so extraordinary that they might have been penned by J.K. Rowling?

Maybe it’s because it’s the middle of January…maybe it’s because I haven’t seen lush, green grass for a few months…or maybe it’s because it’s that time of year devoid of Christmas lights or any exciting holidays approaching.  Whatever it is, I need something magical to happen.  Something wonderful…and magnificent…and positively surprising.

I want to put my faith in something inconceivable.  I need some kind of wonderful to waltz into my dance.  I crave adventure—swashbuckling pirates, ride-able dragons, magic wands, hidden worlds—something, anything to sweep me off my feet.

I want to be awed.  I want to marvel.  I want to be so caught up in the moment that I forget to breathe.  I want to be moved.

I need a taste of summer during this long, fretful winter.  I need to know that the days will speed by and the familiar breezes of spring will flit through the cherry blossoms once again.  I need to revisit the smell of the wind off the lake, and soak up the aroma after a thunderstorm.  I need to know I’ll find that summer sun once again.

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I need to know that there’s a reason for enduring the bitter cold.  I need encouragement to wait out the storm, to see where the last snowflakes fly.  If braving the ice and sleet guarantees a sweet reawakening in the spring, I will gladly bare all blizzards that pass my way…because, when blizzards finish their attack, they always, always leave behind a beautiful, shining scene.

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I need to believe in something wonderful.  I want to believe in the impossible.  I trust in a power no one can define.

I hope…


A very, very happy birthday to Uncle Lewis, who turned the tender young age of 85 yesterday!  I’d personally like to dedicate the newly renovated blog theme to him, which is entitled Spring LoadedUncle Lewis, you continue to amaze me, in every way shape and form.  I want to shout it to the world!

What the #FF?!?: My First Guest Post!

Guess what?  I’m taking the day off!

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No, not that kind of day off…I’m guest posting for the very first time over at www.educlaytion.com!

Clay was kind enough to invite me over for the day to guest-post on his Friday Flick Face-OffIn the post, I wax nostalgic about my love for movie composer John Williams, and offer up three of my favorite Williams’-scored movies as contenders for his head-to-head-to-head battle. 

If you’re unfamiliar with my weekly “What the #FF?!?” post, I make a few shout-outs to the websites and bloggers who rock my socks, and give them a little love, via my site and Twitter

Clay’s been an awesome friend during my early days in blogging (which, okay…I still AM in my early days of blogging, this being the third month).  His writing style has a wonderfully witty voice, intermixed with humor, poignancy, and more knowledge than Wikipedia and Alex Trebek combined.  And hey, he also knows how to rock an 80’s sweater and hair style like no other.

Be sure to check out his Wiki-Wednesday feature, where he takes a variety of events that happened on a specific date and connects them all together…think like Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon, but with no Footloosing, Kira Sedgwick-loving star.  He also can be found on Twitter.

Why don’t you join me over at www.educlaytion.com today and vote for your pick in the Friday Flick Face-Off?  Will it be Hook, featuring Robin Williams and Dustin Hoffman?  Or Jurassic Park, where the dinosaurs steal the show?  Or is it the baby of the bunch, Harry Potter the Sorcerer’s Stone?  Only YOU can decide the outcome!

Happy FF Friday!

"If I had one hour in a time machine…":Plinky Prompts Thursday

If you could change an event in your life, WOULD you?

Captain’s Log: March, 1990. I’ve traveled back in time 21 years to a moment which altered my world and changed the course of my life forever. I’ve climbed aboard this state-of-the-art Chronos Transport Hover Craft today in hopes that I might turn the tide on an event which severely impacted my entire childhood. I can only hope that I’m not too late.

The CT Hover Craft landed gently on a lush, green lawn, a mere 10 seconds after making the jump to light speed. So far, so good. I could only hope that I had maneuvered my ship to the exact coordinates of 28 Peterson Street, at exactly 3:58 PM, on March the 17th. I had no time to lose.

I quickly deplaned, wearing my silver Time Traveler Couture jump suit (made from sequins, glitter, and the tears of angels), and made off for the house which stood directly in front of me. Ah, I thought. I know this place well. I had spent many days of my youth at this location, and its familiar aroma of chocolate chip cookies and freshly brewed coffee excited the nostalgia in my brain. I couldn’t linger on sentimental memories, however. I had work to do.

I stealthily entered the first room I saw: an older woman stood around a kitchen island, quietly mixing ingredients into a large, yellow bowl, faded with use. Behind her, a small television loudly broadcasted some program which featured angry women throwing chairs at their equally angry husbands. I couldn’t make out exactly what caused their distress, but I’m willing to bet it was due to pregnancy results or infidelity…possibly both.

I couldn’t allow myself to linger and get wrapped up in their drama. Leaving the woman churning batter in the kitchen, I quickly made my way to the other side of the house, where I found a large, carpeted living room, complete with a massive fireplace, awaiting me. Inside, a small girl of no more than 5 or 6 sat, absent-mindedly watching David the Gnome on TV while playing with a Fisher Price set of make-believe items….combs, brushes, empty plastic bottles of shampoo: she was playing hair dresser.

She carried on a lively dialogue between herself and an imaginary customer, while the soft tones of the TV played in the background. Her little hands were abuzz with motion, flitting from this brush to that. She pantomimed shampooing her customer’s hair, rinsing it, brushing it out. Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, her hands were upon an object that was not fake…an object that was not a part of the play set. An actual pair of real scissors.

This was it, I thought. This was the moment that changed everything. A twinge of terror rose through my veins. She has no idea what is coming next, I mused. Years and years of shame and regret would plague her every step, and she knows nothing of it. But, I do.

I alone know what happens in the ensuing five minutes. The child will next take the pair of scissors, which she snatched unknowingly from her grandmother, place them in her small, innocent hands, and turn them on her own soft, brown locks. She will think nothing of it, shearing bits and pieces of her hair into uneven strands and Alfalfa-like sculptures. And why? Because she’s playing hair dresser, and it was time for her hair cut.

Minutes later, her grandmother will come into the room, turn 10 shades of pale, and scream out in horror, as her granddaughter stands before her with an impish smile on her face. Tears will ensue, but not from the child…weeping at the stylistic catastrophe before her, the grandmother will place a telephone call to the girl’s mother, who will rush in from work to confront her own sobbing mother and her now-confused daughter.

The mother will then make a decision for her daughter which will then echo throughout the early years of her life. In order to rectify the salon disaster, the young child will be taken to a real hair stylist, who will, in turn, give her an unbelievably cute but immensely dull bowl cut…a hair style she will subsequently keep for years to come.

The child will continue into grade and middle school with such a haircut, unlike many of her female peers, who treasured and adored their long locks. The child will never know braided hair, or pigtails, or head bands. She will never be dubbed as one of the “pretty girls,” and will tote an appearance more of a tom boy than of a Barbie girl. She will struggle to attract the focus of the male gender, turning more to humor and spunk than feminine wiles and attraction.

I stood there, replaying the scenario in my head, and knew that my time was limited. I had to act now. The child stood before me, scissors in hand, and just as I was about to warn her of a childhood full of awkward school pictures and teasing criticisms from friends, my voice faltered.

I suddenly realized that I couldn’t tell her what was about to happen. I couldn’t change the course her life would take from that moment on, because, in the end, we become who we are by the struggles we endure. No, she wouldn’t be thought of as a pretty little girl. No, she wouldn’t attract the attention of the male gender until she was 25. And no, she would still have to endure a very long awkward phase which lasted—nay, is lasting—well into her 20’s. But I wasn’t about to change the course of events that led me where I am today.

Yes, I was a tomboy. Yes, I played with Power Rangers. Instead of being the pretty girl, I played sports, told gross jokes, and spent my summers in front of a Nintendo. I encouraged a sense of humor before a sense of fashion, and I was forced to focus more on personality than looks. In a way, my short hair defined me even before I knew how to define myself. It was my first step at becoming an individual, if even done accidentally.

Slowly and quietly backing away from the child, I walked back out through the front door, hearing several rising shrieks emanating from the house. The grandmother had no doubt stumbled on the scene of the crime, and it took all the power in me to not chuckle. Don’t worry, I thought. Even though she’ll endure a hideous haircut, years of playing with the boys, and an awkward phase which puts all other awkward phases to shame, she’ll be just fine.

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For some reason, the original thread got deleted, along with a few of the original comments from some awesome posters…so I wanted to re-comment them!

Merillion:  Nicely done!  Kept me very interested.  I had an experience at a very young age which sure might have changed MY hair forever!  Was alone in our Brooklyn apt; wanted to plug something into a wall outlet; but one of the metal prongs was bent outwards, so I held the prongs together while I plugged it into the outlet.  I remember the shock; remember waking up maybe minutes later, lying on the floor.  Never told my mother and father about this.  But I’ve always wondered whether it affected my brain in any way.  Many people I know would say "Oh YEAH!!" 🙂
It didn’t do anything to help my hair stick out, though; always been fine, straight, and flat.

Tori:  Awesome. I was fortunate in that I only got the Sears Salon Bowl Cut for a year or two before my mom opted to just give me "Curly Bangs" at home. I, too, was not considered the girly girl by peers, but there is something to be said for having a sense of humor and being comfortable playing Mario Cart in a room of boys!