Food for Thought

If I were to write a letter about all those I am thankful for, even if it might consist of a few fictional characters, the list would be as long as the decimal PI written out. Although I suppose I can try.

I am thankful for my father. He taught me how to use a fork and knife. The knife always goings in your dominant hand while the fork is held in your non dominant. Once you are done cutting, you can seamlessly switch to move the fork from your plate to mouth with minor damage along the way.  Even though Cheerios weren't my favorite, I would still eat them for you. When I got older and one morning you explained that you ate the Special K breakfast cereal for me, it meant the world and so I ate the sugared cardboard. Luckily this time I didn't throw up like I did when I was made to eat a tuna sandwich. Fortunately you never made me eat anything I didn't want to again, minus the extra spaghetti sauce I drowned my pasta in and the leftover milk from a hearty bowl of cereal, carefully airlifted from the pool of white to my child lips by a thin sliver of metal I grasped in my hand fearful of spilling. I remember the night I asked you to read a story I wrote and my sixth grade grammatical skills were not up to par, and are still not hence my horribly atrocious run on sentences and lack of hyphens when needed, but you smiled and told me you liked it. A year after that I had just gotten into your car and something was different. I know you saw the scars and fresh wounds on my leg, peeking out under the hem of my shorts, where the all my secrets were stored. You didn't say anything, but you let me know I could come to you. Even though I never took you up on your offer, it was very much appreciated.

Child's Play - A Memoir by Drake

All of my memories kinda reach the same level, none really stick out with more details than another.
Although I can recall numerous afternoons spent at my babysitter's house in Rogersville.
My mom would drop me off in the morning before work, usually still sleepy and presented in pajamas. The morning would consist of our group's favorite cartoons, such as spongebob or Scooby Doo.
As the others would arrive and the weather would gather warmth, our energy increased.
Some days we would pretend to be characters for The Incredibles movie - I would always be Violet, because who doesn't want to be invisible? I could say that by playing the character that is invisible, it was a symbol of how I would feel all through growing up, and while that is true, I really just thought she was pretty.
On the afternoons we ventured outside, we would ride tricycles and climb on the profane  tank that resided next to the path connecting the babysitter's house and her daughter hair salon.
There was a jungle gym at the edge of her property, looking over the cow pasture of her son's, hidden behind a forest of small tangled leaves and trees. It creaked and groaned, threatening to break down any time someone would dare to try and swing.
Off to the side, next to the gate of the pasture, there was a fruit tree. Not too far from that, a blackberry bush was the pot of golden at the end of the rainbow.
For lunch, we were served a gourmet meal of ravioli and some kind of vegetable. After we had a clean plate, there was a choice of red jello or a popsicle. During the summer everyone would choose a popsicle. At the end of our devouring, we would have a contest of who had the most juice left after their popsicle.
Naps were the most dreaded part of the day.  Sometimes I would have to sleep on the couch in the husband's office - that was the worst. It was dark and intimidating. Other times I would sleep on the couch in the living room. The one that was almost a love seat but just big enough for me to curl and stretch as I pleased. I've never been good at sleeping, hence why I popularly sport the raccoon look nowadays, and most afternoons I would lay on the couch for an hour, tossing and turning, observing my surroundings.

I would ask to see my dad. We would sit at the kitchen table and eat our cheerios. Soon we'd go to Gillenwaters like we use to when I was younger. He'd bring a tennis ball or something similar and push me in the swing. He'd throw the ball and I'd catch it. Afterwards we would go home and eat a bowl of strawberries, bananas, and milk, maybe watermelon. Afterwards I'd comply and utilize the math flash cards I always detested. I'd sit in the recliner with him and read him my favorite page with the chipmunk and Bonnie in the Highlights magazine. Before a nutritious dinner of french toast and lemonade, I'd build him a cake of legos. After dinner, my mom would pick me up, and I would take a bath with all of my barbies and little pet shops. My mom would tuck me in and sing our goodnight songs.

I wish I didn't know how my father regards me. I wish I didn't know all the things he and my mother went through. Why they divorced. How their marriage was. I wish I didn't know how he thinks or could act.

About the Author

 Growing up, Kelli Volonte has realized sometimes you have to be the princess and knight in shinning armor. It has always been important to her that young girls find peace with themselves and learn to love who you are; all the while knowing that being happy fulfills them as people. Instead of thinking falling in love with another person will make them whole.

This is her first published book. She lives in Springfield, Missouri with her mother, brother, dog, and four cats.

Movie Preferences

  Oceans Eleven is an underrated classic. It's kinda like Leo’s Inception, where it takes a few times and a crap ton of attention to understand it, but once you do, the brilliance of it hits like an ocean wave, slowly dragging you into the amazement of it.
   80’s movies are my downfall. 90’s are a close second. But my undying love for The Breakfast Club, Sixteen Candles, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Take up approximately 80.1232% of my heart, while the rest is reserved for food. You’ve Got Mail, Pretty Woman, and When Harry Met Sally are what I grew up watching, and are now what I base my love life off of; which is probably why I'm still writing the manuscript for my wedding.
   I've never understood why people like horror movies. They're full of negativity and horrible things; why would you want that in your life? The world is hard enough to stay positive in without being reminded of the scary vastness of how much we don't know or can't control.
   Movies and tv shows are my life. They're the best way for me to escape from reality, take a break from things. They also inspire me. I use them as a motivational tool. I'm usually in bed or on my couch in my front room. Before I got a job my mom and I would go see a movie in theatres every other week. It was great bonding time and a nice way to get out of the house. We've only been to the movies once since Campbell 16 closed. I really miss those nights, especially the popcorn. Movie theatre popcorn tastes so much better than regular popcorn.
   Building a fort and filling it like the inside of a pie with soft pillows and fuzzy blankets to settle in for a movie marathon of all of my favorite old time romance classics on a rainy day with candles burning next to a cracked window in an empty, quiet house is still on my to do list, but I like to think I'm close to checking it off.
   If I were to answer that last question honestly it would be sad and depressing and far too emotional than I would like to share, so instead I'm going to write about a day I hope to experience.
   Rain welcomes the hello from a long lost love of a window as the city outside begins to stretch and wake up. The slight breeze waltz in with smell of rain on its jacket as the perfume entices the scent of fresh laundry wandering around the apartment. They greet Frank Sinatra as he speaks a language of love threaded together by music notes of a saxophone.







 

Dan in Real Life

   My brother turns thirteen in December. He's in seventh grade. In my opinion, seventh grade is the hardest year of an already hard age. You're in the middle of everything, lost in a sea of expectations and newfound pressures that come with getting older, especially when it comes to socializing in school. Grades are different and teachers have less empathy. This quick sand is hard for a marathon athlete of life’s hardships at thirteen. Therefore I try to be for him what I needed someone to be for me at his age. These are my guidelines:


you have to let them make their own choices; the best you can do is educate them as much as possible and hope they make the right decision
you can't protect them from everything; letting them make their own mistakes is how they learn
support them no matter what


They're a lot easier to preach than to practice but we’re all doing the best we can do.


   After looking at the most iconic photos of this millennium, I realized what fuels my fire is taking those in a moment fleeting photos that capture something so beautifully astounding and breathless which tells a story far beyond what words could ever do. I want to go to Iraq and India and Ethiopia and so many other places that will strip me of all but the bare necessities to gain perspective and lose the materialistic edge that I'm in a battle with everyday. I want to help those that have suffered far more than I ever will, and those who bear stories most people in this country will never understand. All the while, I want to share that with the world; to inspire those who sit in the back of an economics class listening to over privileged teenagers try to talk about something they know nothing about and feel like the world is against them because only they know the truth; it will be a reminder that the world holds so much more than a life of trying to make millions and losing everything you thought you stood for along the way. Love and selflessness is what holds the world together.


   I like to think that if tubing and hide and seek were Olympic sports, I'd be a gold medalist. While I won't spill any of my secrets for either, hide and seek was a special favorite pastime of mine to play as a kid and still is. My favorite spot in my house to hide was the very back of my mom’s closet, behind all of her long black clothing reserved for certain occasions, upon the plastic tubs in which the contents are still unknown to this day. Sometimes when I was feeling the need to be alone in a quiet, safe space I would climb to the back of the closet in the hallway across from the bathroom. Behind all of my mom’s fancy dresses and past the spare toilet paper, to lay on the comforters and blankets. Sometimes I wish I could go back to that.










 

Movie Quotes

I'm such a sucker for quotes, especially quotes from my favorite movies.

They were too good not to post.

"It only took three months. Twelve years and three months."

Captions Aren't My Thing

I noticed today that a few planets were missing. I wonder how long they've been gone and where they disappeared to.

"Do not look at yourself with disgust, you are a gift to this earth. You are beautiful, you are a light, an energy, an essence. You are nature herself."

- Heidi Pickett

This is Iman. I named him after the world's first black supermodel because she represents courage and bravery and a type of diversity that not everyone can understand; she was stunningly beautiful in an unconventional way, and I believe that he (my cat) is just as breathtaking, but many people thought he was ugly.

"I don't know what it was, you see. Her eyes had a certain sparkle. Her personality was fiery and precious."

I've always wanted to do a piece that breaks out of society's mold, therefore I made a deal with my brother and his friends. If they would come take photos with me, I would drive them around to skate spots. This piece would be titled, "Boys Can Wear Highlighter Too".

I found him in a house off Commercial street on the edge of town. The house was filled with fleas, bedbugs, cockroaches. He was locked in the bathroom with three other kittens. There was no litter box, cat food bowl, water bowl. The guy who "owned" him decided to spend his very little money on drugs, alcohol, and shitty pizza. He would feed these kittens, who were barely old enough to walk, scraps of food once a day. The day I was there, he fed them torn up pieces pizza crust. They fought over the scraps in such a desperate, heart shattering way that it made you see things from a different perspective. 

They called him "The Asshole" because he smaller and was more aggressive. He would sprint from one side of the couch to the next trying to get a bite of food. I would watch him and his siblings play with dead cockroaches in the kitchen after they're bellies were too bloated from high processed carbs to eat anything else. I was the only one who tried to show him any love.

After I took him and two of the other kittens, we found them good homes where they would be safe and loved. He's now my best friend. He purrs the loudest of any of my cats; he'll follow me from room to room. The compassion he exerts is astounding. If my cat can understand empathy and compassion, how can humans beings not?

There's a special kind of grace and purity in capturing moments of unexpected bliss. 

It took me a long time to understand why people cared if they could walk around shirtless in public or not. Eventually I realized that was not the point they were trying to make. 

It still hasn't sunk in that half of my high school career is already over.

"You get a strange feeling when you're about to leave a place. Like you'll not only miss the people you love but you'll miss the person you are now at this time and this place, because you'll never be this way ever again."

- Azar Nafisi

The lighting and trees looked too good not to capture.

Rainy days are a blessing.

It was surreal to be able to hold all of our hardwork in my hands. Weeks and hours and deadlines all for this. Seeing my name printed with words I wrote and photos I took, to be distributed throughout the school and shown off as a representation of Kickapoo, was a feeling like no other. 

"I know these will all be stories someday, and our pictures will become old photographs. We'll all become someone's mom or dad. But right now, these moments are not stories. This is happening."

- Perks of Being a Wallflower